


Truly, Madly, Deeply

by notjustmom, scrub456



Series: John and Sherlock's Excellent Adventure [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, M/M, The Princess Bride References, Wedding, because you can be handsy but platonic and still truly madly deeply, change in rating/relationship in Chapter 32, child abuse mentioned/implied, handsy but platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-09 23:06:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 74,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7820752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom, https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/pseuds/scrub456
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Mawwage. Mawwage is what bwings us together today." -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Writer's Block

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Love is many things none of them logical." -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

 

"Damn it!" John tore the page from the legal pad, crumpled it, and threw it. He'd long since stopped caring whether he made it to the bin or not. Bluebell sighed from her spot in front of the fire.

It was his own fault. He'd deferred nearly every decision in planning the ceremony and the dinner after to Sherlock. All but this. It wasn't that John didn't care, he did. He simply didn't care about things like serviettes, and the exact shade of blue of his pocket square, or pocket squares at all really. What he cared about was Sherlock.

Only Sherlock.

If John had his way, it'd just be the two of them and maybe Mrs. Hudson or Mycroft as witness, down at the registry. Quick, easy, pick up a take away on the way home. The ceremony itself wasn't important.

It's what it represented that mattered. The two become one. Stronger together, forged like precious metal. Individually they could be brilliant, but together... When they functioned as one unit they were so much more. They were bloody magnificent.

"Oh, that's good," John mumbled as he leaned over the page and scribbled away. Ten minutes later he leaned back with a smile and read over the words. "Shite. Absolute rubbish." He groaned. Maybe he could fix it.

Writing their own vows had actually been his idea. It was his one contribution, his only unprovoked (because Sherlock couldn't just accept 'blue' as an answer, dammit) suggestion for the ceremony.

When he'd mentioned it, just in passing, Sherlock's head had snapped up from his microscope (John didn't ask why the table was loaded with dozens of spools of ribbon and stacks of swaths of fabric samples, all in varying shades of, well, blue), he mumbled, "Yes," and disappeared into their room. Twenty minutes later he'd emerged, wrapped himself around John from behind (John had been cooking the thing with the peas, and been standing at the stove the entire time), and whispered, "Brilliant, John. I'm tempted to recite them to you now."

"What? Recite wha- you're done already?"

Sherlock huffed a laugh. "Of course. They're words for you."

"But, I only just..."

"Don't worry John, I know you. Your words will be perfect, if a bit romanticized. Besides, it's not a competition. I know your heart."

He'd sat down with the gorgeous new journals and the perfectly weighted pen Sherlock had given him for his birthday, and attempted to pour every last hope, every bit of love, the myriad of emotions, out onto the pages.

That was nine days ago. After two aborted tries, he'd decided not to ruin the journals with his failed attempts, and switched to a legal pad and a pencil. So he could erase and edit.

"Like hell it's not a competition. Pompous arse thinks he's going to out class me. I'm the goddamn writer in this house." John tore yet another page from the pad, wadded it, and threw it blindly.

"Hey, watch it." Sally snatched the crumpled paper before it hit her. "What's..."

"Sorry, Sally." John spotted the file under her arm. "Sherlock's not here. He's out with Molly."

"This is from the Moran case, Greg wanted me to... I was just at the morgue, and they weren't there."

"Oh, no. They're at Angelo's, working out the menu."

"Ah. Right. You didn't want to..."

"God no." John shook his head and Sally chuckled. "It's all overkill to me. But he wants it, and I'd give him anything..."

"I know, John." She smiled. "Are you ready for this?"

John sighed. "No." He realized what he'd said when he saw Sally's surprised expression. "I mean yes. To make the commitment, yes. To be married... god, married, damn... to Sherlock, yes. To be done with the fuss, yes. But ready for the ceremony?" He glanced around. "Not so much."

Sally held up the wadded paper. "Trying to write your vows?" John nodded, so she smoothed the paper out some, and scrunched her face. "Shit, John. That's awful."

"I know." He let his forehead fall forward and hit the table with a bang.

Scooping up an armful of the discarded pages, Sally sat next to him and started reading. And laughing. "Oh god. I'm sorry. I'm- damn, John." He responded by banging his forehead on the table once more.

"Oh... Wait. What's this?" Sally read out loud:

_And you can tell everybody this is your song_  
_It may be quite simple but now that it's done_  
_I hope you don't mind_  
_I hope you don't mind_  
_That I put down in words_  
_How wonderful life is while you're in the world_

"It's kind of perfect."

"I know." John mumbled.

"It's also Elton John," Sally snorted.

"Why are you here?"

"I came to find your boyfriend..."

"NOT my boyfriend."

"...but it's clear you are the one who needs help." Sally giggled, and then devolved into outright laughter as she continued to read. "Wait. John, this is..." She handed him the sheet.

John glanced over it and read it out loud. "I guarantee there'll be tough times. I guarantee at some point one or both of us is gonna want to get out of this thing. But, I also guarantee that if I don't ask you to be mine, I'll regret it the rest of my life. Because I know in my heart you're the only one for me."

"John, that's the best one I've read yet."

With a deep sigh, John picked up the remote and clicked on the telly. When he pushed play, Sally nearly fell out of her chair she laughed so hard. "Oh god. That movie is so terrible. Runaway Bride, John? Really?"

"I've watched films, I've read poetry. My playlist is nothing but tooth rottingly sweet love ballads. I can't..." John rubbed his face. "I don't know how to say what I want, what I need to say. There's too much..."

"John." Sally shoved the crumpled papers away and took his hand. "He loves you. God, it's so evident. He loves you for you, and however it is you two express yourselves to each other when no one else is around..."

"It's not..."

"Doesn't matter." Sally shook her head. "It's what makes you two who you are. I bet he got his done in less than an hour, didn't he?"

"Twenty minutes."

"Damn." Sally chuckled. "But he doesn't hold back. He says what he means, no matter the situation. You are careful and controlled... most of the time. You're most open when it has to do with Sherlock."

"But that doesn't help me write these vows."

"I think you've already written them, John."

"You've seen this mess, right?"

"Not these." Sally shook her head, and reached across the table to push John's laptop nearer him. "The first time I realized how you really felt about him, it was reading your blog. I know it's your record of the cases, and it's not nearly as romanticized as Sherlock carries on about, but it is... It's a love story, of sorts. It's your love story. You and Sherlock."

"Sally, I..."

"I'll just put these files here, Sherlock can call me when he gets back." She picked up John's discarded pages and dropped them in the bin. "And I'll leave you to it."

John watched her go, opened his laptop, and glanced at Bluebell. "I'm an idiot." He ran down the steps, and caught Sally in a tight hug just as she was unlocking her car. "I'm an idiot."

"Hmm. But you're in love, so I'll forgive it this time. Don't let it happen again."


	2. Almost...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't guess. I think. I ponder. I deduce. Then I decide. But I never guess.” 
> 
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Mycroft looked up from his laptop as she stirred next to him and made a tiny sound. She was so different at rest, the fierce competency and independent woman gave way to something ethereal and what was the word...elfin. He sighed, knowing she would probably send him article after article detailing how such idealised and romanticised visions of the fairer sex were damaging to women as a whole and personally insulting to her as an individual, if the sentiment was ever expressed so inelegantly. He turned his attention to the innumerable still unopened 'URGENT' and 'needs an answer yesterday' emails, then back to the sleeping figure and closed the laptop without a thought to saving documents or whether Windows had been shut down properly or not. They had wasted entirely too much time as it was, though they had worked together on a daily basis for what felt like an eternity, he had rarely allowed himself time to observe her in such minute detail and he wanted to know it all. Suddenly he was transported back to the first time he ever caught a glimpse of her at Cambridge.

Of course, he had no idea she was a 'she' when they first made, uhm...contact.

He had needed to blow off some steam, his tutors were asking the impossible of him, though he would never acknowledge that he was feeling any pressure or stress. It was unthinkable. Any time he thought of expressing a feeling of doubt or question someone in authority, he thought of his brother who always blurted out whatever he was feeling at the exact moment he was feeling it. It made Mycroft want to disappear altogether, though at times, he wished he had a way of releasing the excess energy that he seemed to hold in every cell of his rather oversize form. He had been a bit more than chubby as a child, and was taunted mercilessly for it, of course, being the smartest in every year had already made him an easy target, not to mention the name his parents had 'bestowed' upon his rather soft shoulders, made for the perfect storm. By the time he arrived at Cambridge, he had become a well-formed 6'2", 185, but in his heart, he always saw himself as the stout, slow and last picked lad for games. The only respite he had known growing up was when he was allowed to take fencing from his uncle, who had been a fencing champion at Cambridge. He had been afraid at first, but once he had mastered the skills and realised he could virtually vanish while dressed in the protective gear, he found a rare peace, where no one could get to him.

He dropped his books off in his rooms, and changed into his fencing clothes, leaving the protection of his three piece bespoke suits behind, then jogged over to the fencing club. He could always find someone to practice against, and he had never been bested by anyone, no matter age, size or ability. From an early age, he had a gift of determining a person's weakness, and on the piste, that talent served him extraordinarily well.

Today would be no different.

His opponent today was fleet of foot and never hesitated, but after a few passes, Mycroft realised he had a routine, a set pattern from which they never departed. This was the only weakness Mycroft could detect, so he slowly disrupted his opponent's smooth transitions and eventually he managed to defeat them, though he admitted he was nearly beaten. At the end of the bout, he saluted the man opposite and was about to shake his hand when his opponent removed his mask and she, not he, shook out her long auburn tresses. 

"But, you - you, uhm, I'm, sorry." Mycroft began and sputtered to a stop when she glared at him.

"Why are you sorry? You beat me fair and square, and yes, you are quite correct, I have become complacent in my movements. I will work to correct that in the future."

Mycroft removed his mask and she laughed aloud. "Ah, I should've guessed. I have been wondering when we would 'cross swords.' I had thought it would be in class, but it figures it would be here, my one refuge from the idiots of the world, and who shows up but Mycroft Holmes. I had heard you were unbeatable, but I had no idea..."

It took him a moment to recover his shattered equilibrium, but within a few seconds he offered his hand and asked politely, "And may I know the name of the first person to give me a test in years?"

"Violet Hunter. But you may call me Vi."

"Mycroft Holmes, but you may call me Myc, if you must."

"Very well, Myc." She grinned at him, and he felt his face redden.

"Vi. Uhm...do you have plans for dinner?"

"Not as such, was going to grab a cuppa, then study for that exam in Modern British History, it looks like a bear."

"It does indeed, do you mind company?"

Violet appraised him for a brief moment and must have found him acceptable, as she shook her head. "I don't mind at all, especially if you don't mind being seen studying with a woman."

"Why would I mind?" Mycroft scowled to himself.

"Oh, I don't know, I've found it difficult at best to study in the libraries without causing a bit of a rumpus. I tend to study in my rooms, but if you are willing..."

 

He was still lost in his memory of a time before things became complicated, when she began to whimper in her sleep. "Damn him." Mycroft muttered to himself and he spoke to her softly.

"Vi - love, you are safe. I am here. No one can hurt you." 

"Myc?"

"I'm right here, next to you, I'm going to touch your hand, yes?"

It was the same as always, well, the always that had begun only two weeks previously, when somehow, she had agreed to give up her flat and move in with him, without a moment's hesitation. She had looked into his eyes and he felt his breath stop for the briefest of moments until she kissed him softly and nodded her agreement.

He watched as her eyes opened and she searched his face for the familiar and safe. She blinked and blew out the breath she had been holding. "I'm sorry, Myc."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Vi." Mycroft kissed her hand, then held her in his arms.

"I should be over it, it's over. He's dead. He's dead, and I have to stop being afraid, Myc. I've never been afraid before, and I don't know what to do."

"It's going to take some time, Vi. Give yourself some time."

"Time? Time...dammit Myc, it's been over a month, and still I wake up stuck in a nightmare, I can't get to you in time...I want, I want to, dammit, you know what I want, but I want to be whole the first time that we -"

"Oh, love. If you think I need that...I can already tell you that I come to you, to this new thing that we are becoming in so many pieces, I am so broken I can't even begin to tell you - I can only hope our strengths will be powerful enough to overcome -"

"I'm just scared I won't be what you want -"

"How can you possibly think that, love? You still don't truly believe how much I love you..."

She stopped his words with a single look. The look he remembered from so long ago, once she understood that he saw her as if not his better, at least a person of equal worth and talents, regardless of what society had drummed into his skull.

"Just a bit longer, Myc, please?"

He nodded and held on tighter, and after a few moments, he felt her relax and sigh, then fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. And despite all of the urgent, important, man-made emergencies that he should have been attending to, he found the only thing he wanted to do was follow her, so he did just that.


	3. Disguises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"'Enough about my beauty,' Buttercup said. "Everybody always talks about how beautiful I am. I've got a mind, Westley. Talk about that.'"_ -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

"Allow me?"

Violet gripped the edge of the kitchen worktop and frowned. She nodded, refusing to make eye contact. "Damn it."

"That was basically my mantra after I was shot..." John crouched down and picked up the largest pieces of the shattered mug. "Recovery can be a bitch." He looked up at her. "How are you doing?"

"The wound is healing very well, and with continued physio, I'll have my full range of motion back." Easing her grip on the counter, Violet reached for a new mug, and paused for a moment at the twinge of pain in her back. "The smallest movements still get to me occasionally."

John finished sweeping up the remaining shards and dumped them into the bin. "Are you sleeping?"

"Excuse me?" She glared at him.

"Sorry, I just remember not sleeping well. That place between almost comfortable yet still aching isn't exactly conducive to sleep. And then... there were the nightmares."

"There are... nightmares. Yes." Violet handed John a mug of coffee. "They're terrible, but that's not the worst part. The worst is the fear. Going outside... I just..."

"I understand. I do." Violet looked at him with a wary expression. "I know our wounds are different, so were the circumstances. But coming back to the city was hard for so many reason, not the least of which was that the worst of what I saw at war was in cities. You think of battlefields, and you picture the black and white film reels from the World Wars, of men in trenches, literally in fields. But my battlefield was in city streets. To come back to a busy city, and walk down a street lined with windows where anyone could be waiting to do anything?" John shook his head.

"How did you..."

"Made myself walk. Started in the park where it was more open, but I could still hear the traffic and people. And then, I found Sherlock, and I didn't have to face the city alone. It was hard because I didn't want to admit I needed help, but then when I decided to trust him, the world wasn't so scary anymore."

They stared at each other over their coffee for a moment. "I've never told anyone about the windows before." John mumbled.

Violet nodded. "I'm use to doing everything on my own."

"It's exhausting, isn't it? Especially since you don't have to anymore. And you don't have to rush. Take your time. I understand it's you and Mycroft keep the free world going, but you have to be mentally ready too."

"Sound advice." Mycroft entered from his study. John didn't know if he'd ever get use to seeing him in anything but three piece bespoke. "I have the plans laid out in my study when you're ready."

John glanced at Violet, and she nodded. "The car should be here to take me to physio." She stepped slowly toward John. "Thank you." She kissed him on the cheek and whispered, "Myc showed me the plans. Sherlock's going to love it."

She made her way around to Mycroft, who was leaning on a highly polished simple wooden walking stick he used around the house. John studied his empty mug.

"Soon, love," Mycroft whispered and kissed her gingerly. Violet nodded and made her way to the car.

John was right. Slow and persistent. She'd get over her fear, and she'd get her strength back.

Apparently her doctors all agreed. She'd been hoping to increase her workout, but instead it was the same routine as always. Stretches and then the treadmill on low speed for as long as she could endure. With a sigh, she put in her headphones and hit shuffle on her playlist.

 

_I wish I was someone else_  
_I'm confused, I'm afraid, I hate the loneliness_  
_And there's nowhere to run to_  
_Nothing makes any sense, but I still try my hardest*_

 

She wasn't alone anymore, she had someone to rely on, who relied on her as well. And there were people, multiple people, she could count on, even trust. And that was almost as terrifying as anything else she had ever faced. Being depended upon meant if she failed it wasn't just herself who'd  be let down.

She'd been self-sufficient for as long as she could remember. Her mum was hardly more than a child herself when Violet was conceived, her father abandoned them when he found out about the pregnancy. Shunned by her family, her mum did the best she could, worked impossibly long hours, and managed to keep them fed and under a roof. There was, though, always a different man hanging around, some would stay longer than others, but when Violet was six she decided she didn't have to like or even care about any of these "uncles" who stayed over.

Puberty came with a vengeance when Violet was twelve, and everyone noticed. The girls in her class at the state school were jealous. The boys were in awe. The unflattering school uniforms did nothing to help conceal.

She was two months shy of thirteen when she was sat down by the school nurse, and it was explained to her that it was her own fault for wearing her blouse the way she did, and that's why her history teacher had acted the way he had.

It was the same reason "uncle" James gave her mum a few months later.

If it was her own fault people noticed her, then she was willing to disappear. She made sure all her school clothes were too big, and when she wasn't in uniform, she decided on the safety of layers and went punk. She dyed her auburn hair -- the one thing every male she'd ever known commented on (there were other things they simply ogled) -- jet black and wore it hanging down over her face. A too large army jacket and black boots were every day additions to her wardrobe. She locked herself in her room and studied, excelled in her classes, but stayed hidden in the shadows of her classmates.

Her disguise worked until she was fifteen. She decided she wanted to go to uni. Specifically, Cambridge. No one was going to help her get there, so she had to do it herself. She took a job as a nanny, and it was perfect, at first, though the boy was a holy horror. The Rucastles were old money, and paid well.  After a few months though, Mr. Rucastle started coming home early, paying too much attention.

Violet walked away in the best way she knew how -- she said "fuck off" and shaved her head. She dressed all in black, wore too much black eye makeup, and practiced her best snarl.

She made her own way after that. Slept at home only out of necessity. Studied and kept stellar scores at school. Found odd jobs. Paid to learn to do the things her male counterparts were encouraged to do: she learned to fence, how to handle a gun, and how to spar hand-to-hand.

She earned every bit of her admission to Cambridge and her acceptance into her field of study. And she never looked back.

Violet let her hair grow out, and decided she was done hiding. Not because she wanted to belong, but because she had believed, perhaps naively, that she'd be surrounded by men and women as driven and focused as she.

The first time a male student attempted to accost her, she broke his nose. The other students sitting nearby acted as if nothing had happened. She spotted one man near the back who started to make his way toward her, and she waved him off. Violet did not need, nor did she want, a shining knight to swoop in and save her.

Unfortunately for Violet's steel will, the presence of that singular man became something she could not avoid. Always in the library, hidden among the ancient tomes, she stumbled upon him tucked away in her favorite study nook (the one where pretentious arseholes were least likely to make a pass at her) more than once. She'd glare and huff, but he never seemed to notice her. They were in the same course of study, and she learned he was three years ahead. While there were few opportunities to have class together, he was a constant presence -- meeting with the professor she needed to speak to, using the lab she needed to use, checking out the last copy of the journal she needed to reference (which was also how she learned his name).

God damn Mycroft Holmes was everywhere. She couldn't avoid him, though he never, not ever, acknowledged her presence, not after that one time. And she didn't know what to make of him. Violet didn't want the attention of her classmates, especially the male population, and yet...  This aloof man, who was clearly driven, obviously intelligent  (she'd read a paper he'd published when he was seventeen, it was impressive), and was so focused he didn't seem to notice when she went out of her way to catch a glimpse of him, was becoming a menace. Seeing him in public made her forget that she didn't want his attention; it was both infuriating and mortifying.

The day he offered his umbrella to another female student and Violet felt a pang of jealousy, she knew. She was falling for Mycroft Holmes, and they'd never even spoken. She swore to herself she'd avoid him at all costs. This man was a distraction, a weakness, and she refused to let him have another moment of her time.

Until a particularly bad day when the arseholes seemed to be out en masse. Violet needed to work out her frustration. She'd thought a few rounds against a punching bag would do it, but there was no strategy and no intellectual stimulation when the opponent was an inanimate object. What she needed was a bout with a sturdy, perfectly weighted foil, the anonymity of a good mask, and a worthy opponent.

She never expected her opponent would turn out to be the focus of her infuriating infatuation, and would soon become her greatest ally. The one person she could trust, and who would trust her in return. The man she'd willingly die for, and who would offer to do the same for her in return.

"Violet?" The deep familiar voice startled her from her reverie.

Pulling her headphones out, she turned off her treadmill and accepted the towel offered her. "Sherlock, what are you doing here?"

He lifted his arm and rolled his eyes. "John is very persistent."

"Hmm. I'm sure you managed to get something out of this too." With a chuckle, Violet waved at her therapist and they walked toward the locker rooms.

Ducking his head to hide his grin, Sherlock laughed. "I'm teaching him to dance."

"What?"

"I love to dance, he never learned properly, insists he hates it... But I want to. With him. Told him we have to at the reception, that it's expected... So, we compromised. I do physio, he learns to dance."

"Sounds like you got the better deal." Violet giggled. "Poor John."

"I expect my time is limited. He'll catch on and that'll be the end of it." Sherlock shrugged. "He complains, but I think he secretly likes it."

"He likes you." Violet winked at him, and Sherlock laughed. "I miss dancing." She shrugged at Sherlock’s questioning look. "Myc and I use to... part of our cover on assignments."

"Myc- my brother? Mycroft Holmes?"

"He's quite good. Or, he was..." With a sigh laden with regret, Violet pursed her lips. "Don't think either one of will be dancing anytime soon."

"I could..." Sherlock cleared his throat. "If you wanted..."

"Sherlock Holmes, are you offering to teach me to dance?"

"Just, you know, a refresher." He fidgeted, and Violet thought it was endearing. "Dancing is excellent for strength building you know, and will help with posture and regaining proper balance. There have been studies..."

Violet laughed and kissed his cheek. Sherlock blushed. "Thank you, Sherlock. You Holmses. You always surprise me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Something to Believe In" by the Ramones
> 
>  
> 
> And of course, the Rucastles, and Violet's name, are a Canon ACD reference to "The Adventure of the Copper Beeches."


	4. words get in the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I LOVE YOU. Spell it out, should I? I ell-oh-vee-ee why-oh-you. Want it backward? You love I.”  
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

He was humming through the piece he was writing for their first dance, a bit softer, slower, sweeter than his usual work. Nothing complicated about it, when he realised he had somehow ended up on Northumberland Street. Sherlock took a breath and walked towards Angelo's and saw John sitting at their table. It could only be John, as Angelo never let anyone else sit at 'their' table; his back was to the window, as it had been that first night. But his shoulders seemed to sag, not the straight-backed soldier from that night, but someone almost defeated by something. 

"...Well there was a time when you let me know  
What's really going on below  
But now you never show that to me do ya..."*

Something had been nagging at him in recent days. He had thrown himself into planning the "London Do" as he had come to call it, and John had left it to him for the most part. He didn't mind, as he knew John didn't care for the razzle-dazzle and hoopla; deep down he knew John would have preferred something simpler, but Sherlock wanted...wanted, needed John to know how important this step was for him, it was his way of promising everything without using the words - but in his peripheral vision, he could tell something was eating away at John and he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

He rounded the corner and looked at John, curved over one of the leather bound journals, scribbling away with the pen that he had spent months debating over, then he would stop and glare at the ceiling...then start again, and mutter, then flip the page and begin again. Angelo walked over then and caught sight of Sherlock, almost making his presence known, but something in Sherlock's face changed his mind, and he simply refilled John's coffee. He shrugged in Sherlock's general direction, and Sherlock understood that his presence would have been a frustration rather than welcomed at that particular moment, so he nodded his agreement and made his way home.

 

John bent down and scratched between Bluebell's ears and sighed. "I don't know why this is so hard, Bluebell. I'm arse at sentiment is what it is, it was easier shooting someone for him than it is to write two coherent sentences telling him how I feel about him. He knows, he has to know how much I adore him, how every day I wake up next to him is still astonishing and miraculous, a gift, and yet, I can't figure out how to spell it out so other people will understand. It shouldn't matter, because there are days when I don't completely understand it, but I want to be able to make it clear the why and wherefore...and I don't have a clue." Bluebell looked up at him and raised an eyebrow at him, as if asking him why he was telling her this instead of going home and telling Sherlock.

"Because I'm a coward. That's why." Bluebell laid her head back down on her paws and he nodded. "Yeah...I know...Angelo - let me get a tiramisu to go, make it a double?"

John opened the door to the flat, removed Bluebell's leash from her collar and put the tiramisu in the fridge. Sherlock should have been back from physio some time ago, but the flat was eerily silent. Maybe he was out...no, shoes were by the door, coat was hung...damn...he made his way quietly to their bedroom door and peered inside. Sherlock was curled on his side facing him, fast asleep, and John could barely breathe. His mop of curls was in disarray, the sheet had slipped and he could see where the bullet had glanced off his shoulder. He slipped off his shoes and undressed to his vest and pants, then managed to climb into bed without disturbing Sherlock's sleep. He looked at the man in front of him, the straight lines, and remarkable lips that could pout on command or grin at him and take his breath away. He had come so close to losing him so many times, had lost him, and he had returned to him, not once, but twice in this lifetime. He sighed and carefully placed his palm against Sherlock's chest, needing to feel his heart thrum against his fingers. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, then opened them to find Sherlock smiling softly at him. "I know, καρδιά μου, I know." 

 

It had been two weeks, two whole weeks since he had moved in with Molly while they decided where to move to next. He bought flowers, a bottle of her favourite wine, and had made dinner. He sat at the table and took a breath, then put pen to paper. He wanted to write her something in his own words, not borrow from the Bard as he always had in the past, something from his heart that would make it clear to her....

 

He was in the shower, singing that Billy Joel song...she'd have to ask him where he picked it up from...

"She's got a smile that heals me  
I don't know why it is  
But I have to laugh when she reveals me  
She's got a way of talkin'  
I don't know why it is  
But it lifts me up when we are walkin' anywhere"*

She grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper from the bedside table and dashed off a note:

A - You make me ridiculously happy. Love, S

There. Hmmm...What if it wasn't enough? Why on a scrap of paper in green ink? On the back of a bloody receipt? God. What were you thinking? Ridiculo - oh. John. Damn. It's not as easy as I thought.

 

Mycroft had finally caught up with all of the old business from work that he had missed, and was watching her brush out her hair. He still couldn't believe that he was the lucky bloke who got to witness both her graceful moments and those times when a string of curses that would make even John blush would escape from her beautiful mouth. He sent off one more text before he lost his nerve:

 

You are stunning. - MH

 

Violet put her brush down when she heard her phone ping, read the message and looked up to capture Mycroft's eyes in the mirror.

 

Take me to bed? - VH

Are you sure? - MH

Yes. - VH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * from Hallelujah, words by Leonard Cohen
> 
> * from She's Got A Way, words by Billy Joel


	5. Without a Trace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"...don't you tell me what's worthwhile--true love is the best thing in the world, except for cough drops. Everybody knows that."_ -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

Tapping the pen against his lips, Greg groaned. "Bloody hell... poor John." Sally had told him about John’s dilemma, and he'd laughed it off. John had the blog, he'd manage. Besides, it was just baring one's soul to the one person in the whole world... "God dammit. Why is this so hard?" He wasn't even writing vows -- though perhaps this could be practice for one day -- just a love letter. A simple note to let Molly know how important she was.

Carding his fingers through his hair, Greg leaned back. He remembered the first note he'd ever left Molly.

 

_Dr. Hooper-_

_You saved my life._

_Thank you,_  
_D.I. Lestrade_

 _P.S.- The honey lemon ones are my favorite._  
_P.P.S.- Call me Greg?_

 

The circumstances of that first note were so ridiculous, he honestly had no idea how, one: he was still alive, and two: how Molly still gave him the time of day.

Sherlock was right. Of course he was, he was always right. Okay, 'always' was definitely an exaggeration, but it seemed to be the truth when he was deducing Greg's personal life.

And what Sherlock had deduced was that Greg's wife was going to leave him for a gym teacher.

How the hell he'd gotten that from a single glimpse in Greg's direction, he still didn't quite understand. Sherlock had actually tried to explain -- there was an old coffee stain on Greg's collar, which he noticed because Greg's tie was slightly askance, and that was due to a missing button. No wife who actually loved her husband would allow him to leave the house in such a state. What Sherlock hadn't known was that Greg's relationship with his wife didn't work that way; Greg avoided any question that opened with 'does this make me look...' and she basically just avoided him altogether.

Barbara, or Babs as she preferred (Greg realized too many years too late that should have been a red flag, because... Babs? Really?), had been Greg's first. First committed relationship. First admission of love. First time. First everything.

They'd met the summer before uni. When she'd found out that he was going into law enforcement, she'd had visions of grandeur -- promotions, social status, political influence. Greg knew well that police work was far from glamorous, and coming from a family of coppers, he definitely wasn't going into it for the money or prestige.

Greg hadn't been in love with her when he proposed, another revelation that came too late.  He was in love with the idea of being married, of having the life and family his parents had. Babs had never been in love with anyone but herself; what she wanted was someone to dote on her, and that Greg could do.

It was a marriage built on unrealistic expectations, and by the time Sherlock started working with the MET in earnest, both Greg and Babs were miserable. Greg was willing to work it out. Babs was... less enthusiastic. Well, she was enthusiastic about working out relations, just not with Greg.

By the time Sherlock, uhm... jumped? left?... 'died' definitely didn't apply, Babs had also left. She'd moved in with the gym teacher (damn Sherlock) from the school where she worked (grudgingly) as an administrative aide, and had begun the process for divorce. Greg didn't fight it. He found he didn't have much fight left in him at all at the time, partly, yes, because he'd failed as a husband, but mostly because he'd failed Sherlock. It was too much upheaval at once, almost too much to cope with, so Greg simply decided not to cope. He submitted to the investigations by internal affairs into the cases Sherlock had worked, and when that was settled, he went back to work and did little else. To be honest, he threw himself into his work with a renewed, some might have said unhealthy, perhaps even manic, vigor.

It was a year after they'd thought they'd buried Sherlock that the perfect storm hit. Literally. It had been raining and cold for days. They'd had a serial killer on the prowl for two weeks, and Greg was so desperate, he considered calling up John, just to see if any of Sherlock's tricks had worn off on him. Greg was on day four of three hours or less sleep on the terrible couch in the lounge. He couldn't go home because he was weak and a fool, and when Babs showed up crying because her gym teacher fiance had cheated on her, he let her take the master bedroom (just until she could get back on her feet) and moved into the guest room. Or, he would have moved his things, if he'd actually had the time at all. Add to everything the particularly nasty bug being passed around the department, and Greg didn't stand a chance.

He'd practically crawled into the morgue. His head ached so severely he could hardly think, there was a weight on his chest constricting every breath, and without a doubt he had a fever. Doctor Hooper took one look at him frowned.

"Detective Inspector, you need to go home."

"Can't..." A coughing fit doubled him over. "Shit..." He gasped and waved at the sheet draped corpse on the slab. "Just... what'd you find?" He covered the cough by burying his face in his elbow.

"Ah, nope. You're not going to contaminate the evidence. You know better than that."

"Can't go home..." More coughing. "Case..." He blew his nose and groaned. "Ex-wife."

Taking pity, Molly ushered him into her office and pointed at the old couch she'd wedged in there. "Shoes and coat off." She turned the kettle on and dug some paracetamol from her desk drawer.

"But..."

"Sit." Molly demanded. She handed him the paracetamol and a bottle of water. He swallowed the pills and almost choked when she put her hand on his forehead. "You, detective, are an idiot." She shook her head and dug through another drawer, and pulled out a thermometer. "Open."

"Need to call..." Before he could finish, Molly shoved the thermometer in his mouth and turned to make tea.

"You need to be in bed."

Greg grunted and texted Sally to let her know he was at the morgue. He dropped the mobile, and decided he didn't have the energy to pick it up. Molly handed him the tea and checked the readout.

"39? Damn it. Detective, I work with the dead because frankly I'm not cut out to work with you living arseholes. Sorry. But if we don't get you upstairs, you may just end up on my slab."

"I'm fine," Greg grumbled. He swallowed the rest of his tea. "Just need a lozenge for the cough..." He tried to stand but wobbled and dropped back onto the couch. "Maybe a bit of a rest." Another coughing fit and he collapsed back. He was so tired... his chest hurt so bad... his eyes were open, right?

"Shit. Wake up. C'mon, detective... Greg, I'm calling someone."

When Greg finally woke, it was a day later, he'd been admitted, and was hooked up to antibiotics, fluids and oxygen. He pressed the call button for the nurse.

"Mr. Lestrade," her smile was blinding and his head was still pounding. "It's a good thing you were just downstairs. Pneumonia is nothing to mess around with. And you've got the beginnings of strep throat as well. That might have been a deadly combination."

"How did I get here?" He rasped out.

"You passed out cold in the morgue. Doctor Hooper doesn't normally deal with live ones down there. She called for help. Good thing too." The nurse finished taking his vitals. "Your fever's still too high. I'll just go get the doctor."

Greg nodded. "Hey... did anyone call my wif- uhm, ex-wife? Let her know? Has she been here?"

"We left a voice mail, but she's not returned our call. Doctor Hooper called a Sally Donovan, who was here earlier. Doctor Watson was in last night. And Doctor Hooper has been up twice." The nurse smiled and patted his hand. "I'll be right back."

Greg leaned back in his bed and closed his eyes. He needed to change that emergency contact, he supposed. He felt it was too much to ask John, even though John had come when Barbara couldn't even be arsed to answer her mobile. He'd probably ask Sally, he decided with a sigh. Reaching for the water glass, Greg noticed a package on the corner of the table. He pulled the paper away to find a bag of honey lemon flavored lozenges and a note.

 

_Detective-_

_Sorry I called you an arsehole. Next time you're sick, go to the doctor, not the morgue. Let's not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?_

_Feel better soon._  
_Dr. Molly Hooper_

_P.S.- These always work best. The cherry ones are awful aren't they?_

 

Five days later, when he was finally released, Greg stopped in the hospital gift shop, bypassed the roses and carnations, and picked a small  bundle of daisies. He made his way down to the morgue, but a tech let him know Doctor Hooper was at lunch. He'd scribbled out the quick note and left it with the daisies on her desk.

He hadn't seen it then, but looking back, Greg realized Molly had saved him from so much more than just near death. She'd saved him from his own stupidity, and she'd eventually taught him what it meant to really love someone. He picked up the pen and scribbled out the only thing he could think to write:

 

_Molly-_

_You've saved my life in so many ways._

_I love you,_  
_Greg_

_P.S.- You're kind of a bad arse. I'm the luckiest bloke on earth._

 

He tucked the note next to the vase of Gerber daisies and checked the time. Molly would be home any minute. He headed to the kitchen to add the finishing touches to the meal. Molly found him there, singing along to the radio at the top of his lungs. After a quick, sweet kiss, she joined him on the chorus.

 

 _I thought love was more or less a giving thing_  
_Seems the more I gave the less I got_  
_What's the use in tryin'_  
_All you get is pain_  
_When I needed sunshine I got rain_  
_Then I saw her face, now I'm a believer_  
_Not a trace of doubt in my mind_ *

 

* * *

John rubbed the sleep from his eyes and made his way slowly out to the sitting room. "Sh-sherlock?"

The man playing violin by the window turned and drew the bow across the strings one last time. "Ah, Doctor Watson, John, I'm afraid not. I am but the other Holmes."

John nodded and dropped heavily into Watson's chair. "Can I..."

"My dear man, you may not be my Watson, but you are Watson nonetheless." Holmes laid the violin aside and sat across from him.

"And you are Holmes." John nodded and sighed.

"What has you so troubled, John?"

"The wedding is in just a few days. And I... I don't know what I'm doing."

Holmes studied him with eyes that John knew so well, and yet, there were subtle differences. "John, you love him. It is obvious even in the way you search my own features for evidence of your Sherlock."

John blushed and nodded. "He is my best friend. My heart. My other half. I love him more than I can express with words."

"This does not sound like a problem to me." Holmes chuckled.

"It is when I'm supposed to be writing my vows. I'm stuck, Holmes. I want to tell him that he is everything. I need him to understand."

Holmes smiled at him warmly. "Just as you have told me?"

"You're not him."

"Very true. But if you can tell me, why are you unable to tell him?"

John exhaled deeply. "What if I say the words, and then I can't live up to them? What if I fail him?"

"Oh Watson, John, I have no doubt that you will far surpass any vow you could ever make."

"How can you possibly know?"

"I cannot know for certain. However I do trust my own Watson implicitly."

John nodded again. "Have you exchanged vows? You and your Watson?"

"We have, though they will never be recognized in the eyes of man." Holmes bowed his head, and his voice revealed deep sorrow. "If I but had the opportunity, I would take my Watson immediately and make our declaration before God and all of London. He is my life, and yet we are forced to stay hidden from those who would accuse and arrest us. I would do it though, I would risk imprisonment, if it were what he needed to understand my love." Holmes reached across and took John's hand. "Your Sherlock trusts you. Trust yourself."

 

"John?"

"Hmmm? Sherlock?" John stretched and opened his eyes to find Sherlock, his Sherlock, watching him, searching his face.

"Are you all right?"

"I... yes. I think so."

"You were dreaming. You seemed so sad." Sherlock traced the dried trail of a tear with his fingers. "John, what's wrong? You've been so quiet. I can tell you are worried with something. Are you having doubts? Oh god. Uhm, we don't have to... I'm sorry if it's gotten too out of hand. I'll change it, just, don't..."

John pressed his hand to Sherlock's heart. "Shhh. Love. I... do have doubts." At Sherlock's sharp inhale, John hurried on. "But not with you. All my doubts are for myself. What if I make a vow, and I can't keep it? I might fail you, Sherlock. What if I..."

Sherlock pulled him close, and tucked John's head under his chin. "I trust you, καρδιά μου. You will never fail me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"I'm a Believer" by The Monkees


	6. To Love Somebody

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There is no room in my body for anything but you.”   
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Naturally Andy moved in with Sally. He was renting a small, though lovely place in a not so great part of town, which had suited him perfectly, as he was rarely home, while she had bought her flat almost fifteen years earlier, and the market wasn't great for sellers at the moment, and she didn't really want to move. In fact, for the longest time the only thing she disliked more than Sherlock was moving. Now that she had discovered a soft spot or two for the detective, moving had become something best not even considered. 

So, Andy hired a crew of packers and movers, and one day, while Sally was still on leave, box after box, each one heavier than the next came stumbling up the steps to their flat. By the late afternoon, the boxes had taken over most of the front room and had overflowed into the kitchen. Sally sighed, and looked at the top boxes, marked 'Mum's music.' She paused before she opened the first one, wondering if this was private territory, best left uninvestigated, but her curiosity got the best of her, so she opened the first box, and gasped. It was loaded with vinyl records, some were recent remastered releases, while others were clearly the originals, from the 1960s. She searched for the box with his turntable, and as she expected, it had been clearly labeled, so it was easily found. She found a place for the turntable, plugged it in, then slid the first record from its sleeve, placed it on the machine, laid the needle down on it, and went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine.

By the time Andy came whistling up the stairs, Sally had played through three or four albums; Etta, Dusty and now Nina was singing to her. 

 

"Broken windows and empty hallways,  
A pale dead moon in a sky streaked with grey.  
Human kindness is overflowing,  
And I think it's gonna rain today.

Scarecrows dressed in the latest styles,  
The frozen smiles to chase love away.  
Human kindness is overflowing,  
And I think it's gonna rain today..."*

 

Andy's feet stopped moving. He hadn't played this album since he had received them with a note from a lawyer, letting him know that his mother 'was now deceased,' and that this was all that remained of her 'estate'. He had laughed, played this one album, his mum's favourite, repeatedly, while getting well sozzled. The next morning, he managed to pack them back up, load them into his car and lock them away in storage. That had been four, no, five years ago...he could still hear his mum singing and swaying as she folded laundry on her good days...

 

"Everyone's gone to the moon

Streets full of people, all alone  
Roads full of houses, never home  
A church full of singing, out of tune  
Everyone's gone to the moon

Eyes full of sorrow, never wet  
Hands full of money, all in debt  
Sun coming out in the middle of June  
Everyone's gone to the moon..."*

 

Now, he finally got his feet to work again and could hear Donovan singing with Nina. She sang from memory, he could hear it in her voice, she felt these words as strongly as he did, and suddenly, he fell in love with her all over again. He quietly let himself into the flat, and watched her for a moment, before joining in.

 

"...What will happen now  
Everyone's gone to the moon  
There's nobody left  
Everyone's gone to the moon..."

 

Donovan turned at the sound of his voice, and saw something in his face that made her pause, but she started singing once again, put her glass down, and walked over to him. He took her in his arms and kissed her in a way that made her melt into him.

 

"Because I have loved so deeply  
Because I have loved so long  
God in his great compassion  
Gave me the gift of song..."*

 

"I'm sorry," Donovan whispered. "I got curious, thought you wouldn't mind. Do you want to talk about it? About her?"

"No, love, not tonight. Tonight, I just want to dance with you, and then fall asleep in your arms, is that okay?"

"Sounds perfect."

 

"...Was it all planned in advance  
Or was I just born by chance in July  
Who on earth am I  
My friends only think of fun  
They're such a curious a lot  
Must I be the only one  
Who thinks these mysterious thoughts..."*

 

Sherlock looked down into John's face, tight with uncertainty and smiled. "Just look up here, in my eyes, listen to the music, and try not to worry about your feet."

"Hard not to. I don't want to hurt you." John grimaced and looked away.

"Why do you think we are both barefoot, καρδιά μου? Just breathe, and know I have you, I'm not going to let you go, or let you fall, just listen to the music, and trust me."

 

"At last  
My love has come along  
My lonely days are over  
And life is like a song

Oh yeah yeah  
At last

The skies above are blue  
My heart was wrapped up in clover  
The night I looked at you" **

 

Together, they found their breath, and finally John leaned into Sherlock, letting it all just be, their feet somehow knew where to go, their hands rested in just the right places; they moved as one, and John knew words weren't necessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * from the album, Nina Simone and Piano (1969):
> 
> "I Think it's Gonna Rain Today" written by Randy Newman
> 
> "Everyone's Gone to the Moon" written by Jonathan King
> 
> "Compensation" written by Paul Laurence Dunbar & Nina Simone
> 
> "Who Am I?" written by Leonard Bernstein
> 
> ** 'At Last' from Etta James' 1960 album, At Last, written by Mack Gordon and Harry Warren


	7. Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Life isn't fair, it's just fairer than death, that's all." -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

Molly hit shuffle on her playlist and turned the volume way up, pulled on her gloves, and tugged the sheet back from the body on the slab. This was the last body she had to deal with after that mess with Moran, and she wasn't ashamed of the fact that she found a bit of pleasure in what she was about to do.

 

Story about Mary was well to tell  
She seemed to scheme for a dream to sell  
She spent a night locked in a cell  
I knew Mary well cause she Raising Hell  
Mary, Mary WHY YA BUGGIN?*

 

Molly was... different. She wasn't afraid to admit it. She had actually taken ownership of the fact that she never really fit into any one category people might try to fit her into. Yes, Romilly Leonora Hooper was completely content in her own skin.

Content even with that damned unusual name. The name that no one had ever heard of, but was somehow a family tradition on her mum's side. When one is christened from birth with a name that no one has ever heard of, and no one can seem to pronounce, one is burdened with the distinction of standing out from the moment they are introduced. So, Romilly Leonora Hooper decided early on it was easier just to be the one who was different rather than try to fit herself into restrictive stereotypes.

It was her papa who started calling her "Molly" for short, and for most of her life she railed against anyone besides him who tried to address her as such. It wasn't until her third year at uni, when her papa died in an accident, that she asked everyone to call her Molly. It was the only suitable tribute she could think of for the man who had convinced her she could be anyone she wanted to be.

"My odd little duck," or "Ducky," is what her mum had called her. Her older brothers, who thought they were hilarious, simply called her whatever horrible thing they could come up with on any given day.

As a child she never liked dolls, or princesses, or fairy stories, the way most girls her age did. Those things were okay, but just not that interesting. Truth be told, she didn't much care for other girls her age either, with their ribbons, and dresses, and aversion to insects and things that belong outside in general. All the best stuff was outside. Unless it was in a book, specifically a history or science book, or something autobiographical, or even an encyclopedia. She liked art and music too though, and she wasn't picky; she tended to find art and music in everything she did. She was eclectic, and proud of it.

Romilly learned to rebuild an engine with her papa. She did liked cooking with mummy, because cooking was science in the kitchen, and mummy would allow her to "experiment" with dinner once a week (sometimes her results were delicious, but most of the time she only learned what sorts of things didn't work together, and they would have to eat canned soup and sandwiches).

And Romilly loved rugby. Her brothers hated her for it, but it wasn't her fault. When she was nine years old she'd tagged along to watch them practice, and the team that Mick (only a year older, the brother closest to her in age) was on needed someone to stand in. Romilly volunteered; everyone laughed, a few parents said "awwww," and Mick covered his face. It was all very cute until Romilly executed a perfect ankle tap, and the ball carrier, Mick's best mate Joey, ended up face first on the pitch with a bloodied nose. Romilly played rugby with the boys until uni when she was told that since there was a women's team she could only go out for it, so she didn't go out for a team at all.

 

Hit me with your best shot  
Why don't you hit me with your best shot  
Hit me with your best shot  
Fire away*

 

For most of her life, Romilly was "one of the guys," and that was fine. Her female counterparts were all trying to catch the eyes of the male classmates, and there was Romilly right in the middle of them. Being just one of the guys also meant she didn't date many of them, and for the most part, that was fine. It wasn't until uni that she actually seriously tried dating, and that never seemed to work for her either. Most guys didn't know what to do with a girl who was willing to cook for them then would smack them for sexist generalizations, or spend most of the evening talking about classic art and then lose her shoe in a mosh pit.

Some guys assumed that since she was on the smallish side, and pretty-ish (she had no problem with the fact that she would never be considered a classic beauty), she was inexperienced and would try to take advantage; those guys typically ended up with a broken nose or a black eye.

It was about the time that Romilly had decided to go by Molly, and she'd punched two guys in less than two weeks, that she made a discovery about her future career choice. She loved medicine. She loved the science of it. She found the human body fascinating. But she had zero bedside manner, mostly because she had no patience for people who whined and took no responsibility for their own actions. She hated clinical days, and days she had to train in hospital. Her favorite days were spent in the cadaver lab (which won her no points with her male classmates). As a pathologist Molly could study the development of diseases and study genetics, but she didn't have to interact with the patients who were still breathing. And that suited her just fine.

By the time she was thirty, Molly was content. She was her eclectic self, and she was proud of who she had become. And then she met Sherlock Holmes, and her equilibrium was temporarily knocked off center.

He was cold and calculating. He was rude and brash, but not like the boys she had encountered in uni. No, Sherlock's brand of rude and brash was almost... clinical. It might have stung, but Molly could see the logic behind it. She was drawn to his brilliance. Here was a man who seemed as eclectic as she was -- hell, he was bloody near eccentric -- and he was the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

She'd never been infatuated before, she'd never met anyone worth the effort, and she didn't know how to handle herself. She stumbled over her words when she spoke, and she was mortified to admit she went out of her way to gain his attention. In turn, he insulted her, used her, and generally ignored her. But he continued to come back to her lab, so she held on to hope. She was near desperate enough to mention the fact that she had an unusual name too, because people liked having things in common, right? Surely Sherlock would appreciate... No. Probably not. And if she had to guess, he already knew.

Then John Watson upset the balance once more. And Molly kind of hated John at first. But he was kind, and interesting, and he cared about Sherlock, and he seemed to really like Molly for who she was, and it was really hard to stay angry at him. Though she was jealous for a good long while about the natural connection the two seemed to have. She'd never had that with another person, and it didn't seem fair that she had a front row seat to watch the only man she'd ever actually been interested in cultivate it with someone he'd only known for a matter of days.

 

When you were here before  
Couldn't look you in the eye  
You're just like an angel  
Your skin makes me cry  
You float like a feather  
In a beautiful world  
I wish I was special  
You're so fuckin' special*

 

But Molly grew to adore John, and who John was to Sherlock (even if he couldn't see it). Then it all went to hell, and Sherlock asked her for the unthinkable. Sure, it was all to save Greg, Mrs. Hudson, and John, but it was still devastating. And when Sherlock came back, Molly prepared herself for the worst. It never came. John forgave her. Mrs. Hudson still doted. And Greg... well. Marvel that he was, the man seemed more intrigued and more interested in her than ever.

And seeing John and Sherlock rebuild what they'd had together, then after they came back from Greece, how they were in Baskerville, and in the fallout from Moran, Molly knew. She looked down at the corpse that had once been Mary Morstan and tsk'd. "The universe intended them to be together, you crazy bitch."

"Molly?"

 

Load up on guns, bring your friends  
It's fun to lose and to pretend  
She's over bored and self assured  
Oh no, I know a dirty word*

 

"Oh, shit. Uhm, Greg... turn that down, would you?"

"What are you... Ah..." Greg chuckled when he saw the body that Molly was closing up. "Needed to rage a bit, did we?"

Molly grinned at him. "The mystical being that controls my playlist was especially astute today." 

Greg chuckled and nodded at the body. "Anything interesting?" He laughed outright when the song changed before Molly could answer.

 

Look into my eyes, you will see  
What you mean to me  
Search your heart, search your soul  
And when you find me there  
You'll search no more*

 

"You know what?" Greg grinned. "It can wait. Molly Hooper, can I have this dance?"

Molly giggled. "Not exactly romantic."

Greg shrugged. "I don't know, reminds me of the first time we met. That's kind of romantic."

"You're sick." Molly laughed as she tossed her gloves in the bin and slid her lab coat off.

"I heard you singing from the hallway. One dance in the morgue is hardly more sick than singing karaoke with the corpse of an assassin." 

"True enough." Molly giggled and let Greg pull her to him. 

"God I love you."

"I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Mary, Mary" by Run DMC  
> *"Hit Me With Your Best Shot"  by Pat Benatar  
> *"Creep" by Radiohead  
> *"Smells Like Teen Spirit" by Nirvana  
> *"(Everything I Do) I Do It For You" by Bryan Adams
> 
> Molly's taste in music is very eclectic. And yes, she just Han Solo'd Greg.


	8. A First

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cynics are simply thwarted romantics.”  
> \- William Goldman, The Princess Bride

For the first time since 'the incident' as Violet had named it, so she could file it away as simply as possible, she slept until the alarm went off. She took a deep breath and realised she had slept peacefully, without a nightmare that she could recall, and she wondered...no...it couldn't be because...

 

"Are you sure, Vi?" He had asked her once more and she heard hesitation, but also his obvious need for her, and she nodded again. He sat up taller, brushed away some debris from the duvet that only he could see, then looked up at her and her heart suddenly seemed to beat out of tune. "Because, if you aren't, I can wait, I will wait until you are completely sure, I don't want you to rush if -"

She rose from the chair and undid the knot on the belt of her deep emerald silk robe, then let it fall open; she looked up to see Mycroft taking her in, his breathing had changed and his bright hazel eyes were darkening, his lips parted and she knew it was long past time - he was the only man she had ever wanted, and he was waiting for her to cross the room to him, just a few steps away.

It felt like hours, but it was mere moments before she was at his side, as his flurry of words were stopped by a single, elegant finger, and a whispered "shhhhh. You don't know what it means to me, you, your patience, your gentleness, I have wanted this for so long, Myc -" 

He grinned at her, bringing her own words to a stuttering halt. She blinked at him, then dropped her robe, and smirked a bit as his head fell back against the headboard with a thud. "Lord, woman, you will be the death of me," Mycroft moaned as he pulled her into bed inelegantly then kissed her in a way that she had only dreamed of. He no longer treated her as if she were liable to shatter if he touched her too roughly; but instead as the woman he had longed for for the last two decades. 

She returned his passion wholeheartedly, then smiled against his lips. "I need you, Myc, please, love." She sighed as she closed her eyes, and felt his long, dextrous fingers move from her hair, skim along her sides then come to a rest at her hips.

"Gorgeous, Vi. I wish I - we..."

"Nope. No, let's not go there, right? We are here now, and I don't want to think, or talk or do anything but make love to you, please, Myc?"

 

She propped herself up on one elbow and looked down at the man beneath her; Violet rarely had a glimpse of him at rest, and this was their first morning after, she wondered briefly if he would look different to her when he opened his eyes. She didn't have long to wait. 

"Mmmm?" Mycroft blinked at her, then pushed her hair behind one ear and pulled her into a kiss, softer and sweeter than those from the night before. She rolled to his side so she could observe him closer.

"Making sure I'm still the same man as I was before last night? I can tell you, I'm not. Not in the least. You - you astonishing, miraculous, brilliant, beautiful woman. I, hmmm, I always laughed at those ridiculous, cliched and utterly moronic love songs. I, I truly believed sentiment to be a weakness...you are my first, my last, my only, Vi."

On her sharp intake of breath, he smiled, a smile she had never seen before, almost bashful in its fragile hope.

"You mean, last night, was your first, I was your- ?" She put her hand to her mouth.

He nodded at her, then looked away. "I hope, it was, uhm, acceptable, I, well -"

"Couldn't you tell, love?" She touched his face, inviting him to meet her eyes. 

"Yes, hmm, you seemed to, find it, uhm, pleasurable?" 

Violet tried to hold in her laughter, but it came out as an explosion of absolute joy, a sound she had never heard from herself. She was afraid to look at him, lest he take her merriment in the wrong way, but of course he hadn't, he was a Holmes after all. He grinned at her, then rolled them so he could search her deep brown eyes. "Care for another go? We are still on leave, after all..." He groaned as he realised how he must have sounded to her, if he found himself less than his normal politic self.

She laid his concerns to rest immediately."I couldn't think of anything I'd like more, love."

 

Hours later as they were sitting down to a late lunch, Sherlock breezed in, babbling away about suit fittings, and other last minute minutia when he stopped short as he saw their faces.

"Oh. Sorry, I should've knocked. Uhm, I'll come back later?"

"What is it, Sherlock? Care to join us for lunch?"

"Just some last things before the ceremony, but, they can wait...no, I'll uhm, leave you to it."

Mycroft managed to hold back a chuckle until Sherlock closed the door behind him.

"How did he -" Violet stopped when she saw the twinkle in Mycroft's eyes, that she had never seen before. "Oh - I see, you might have to do something about that before you go back to work."

"About what?" Mycroft asked innocently, before he kissed her soundly, taking her breath away.

"You, uhm, are happy, Myc. Obviously so, it would seem."

"Yes, love, for the first time, I do believe I am."

 

Congratulations are in order, may I assume? - SH

Quite so, brother mine. Final fittings on the morrow? - MH

Yes - they have to make sure your trousers fit properly, as they are quite the - I am happy for you, brother mine. It is good to see you smile. - SH

Vi tells me I may have to turn it down a bit - MH

Nonsense, it rather becomes you. - SH

Thank you, brother - MH

 

Mycroft turned off his phone, and pushed away from the table, then offered Violet his hand.

"Dance with me, Vi?"

"I - I don't know -"

"Please?"

"But there's no music -" Violet murmured, but took his hand and he helped her to her feet, then pulled her against him. He began to hum, then began to sing in a voice she'd never heard before, a warm, beautiful baritone.

"Wise men say  
Only fools rush in  
But I can't help falling in love with you  
Shall I stay?  
Would it be a sin  
If I can't help falling in love with you?"*

She sighed as they moved carefully together, step by cautious step, they held onto one another until they relaxed and allowed the words to flow through them.

"I do love you, Mycroft Holmes, more than you will ever know."

"Hmmm. The sentiment is entirely mutual, Violet Hunter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Can't Help Falling in Love" words by Hugh Peretti, Luigi Creatore, and George David Weiss


	9. Thinking...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let's look on the bright side: we're having an adventure, Fezzik, and most people live and die without being as lucky as we are.” -- William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

 

_"Too high, oh, he's going too high. He's going to fall." William stood at the bottom of the outcropping of rocks and squinted up as the dark form seemed to climb up and up and up into the glaring sun. His hands were clenched into tight little fists and pressed firmly against his mouth. "Oh... Oh, no. Hey!" He called out, but the older boy didn't seem to hear him as he slipped, missed his foothold, and sent sand and small rocks tumbling down and down and down. William watched in horror, frozen to his spot. The other boy easily just reached up to grab another rock and quickly righted himself. A few smartly placed steps, and he disappeared up and over the top of the highest rock._

_"Hey. Hey, boy!" William called up again, to no avail. He pursed his lips and studied the formation in front of him. It didn't seem that very high. Only kind of high. And if he went the same way the other boy went, he would be fine. He could just copy everything he saw the other boy do... Except almost fall. He didn't think he'd care for that very much at all._

_He knew the other boy was taller, and probably older. Well, he might be taller and older than William, but William was very, very clever, mummy always said so, and sometimes clever was the best thing to be. The other boy seemed very brave though, he didn't even stop and fret when he almost fell, he just kept going. It was probably the bravest William had ever seen anyone be. He bit his lip. He could be brave too. The boy was probably up there doing all sorts of interesting things. William was curious, and he was strong enough, he knew he was, and suddenly just standing down on the beach seemed like the very worst thing someone could ask of him._

_It was harder than it looked, climbing the sandy, sea damp rocks. Some had slippery moss on them. Others were kind of sharp.There were also gaps between some of the rocks that couldn't be seen from the ground below. There was one gap, bigger than the rest, that seemed absolutely cavernous. William peered into it carefully and shuddered. "Too dark," he mumbled. It would be easy to step over though, he just needed to put his hand... just... so... and then his left foot... right... there..._

_William didn't have time to cry out as he slipped down the rocks into the gap. It wasn't as deep as he thought, if he stood he could almost reach the ledge above him. But the rocks around him were too slippery, and he couldn't climb up. He tried jumping, but his fingers couldn't hold on. William blinked back the tears. He didn't want to be afraid. He wanted to be brave. What would the other boy do? "He wouldn't fall in a stupid hole," William grumbled bitterly. He thought about calling out for help, but that was too embarrassing. What if the other boy heard him and made fun of him? Or what if stupid 'ole Mycroft found out? William wrapped his arms around his tummy and sniffed._

_He wanted to be brave. He did not want to be embarrassed. He wished he was taller and stronger, but he would have to wait too long for that. Aunt Tilly couldn't climb rocks so she wouldn't find him. And he had run away from Mycroft's watch while he was reading. No one knew where he was. He tried and tried and tried to jump and climb his way up, but nothing worked. A few hot tears did fall then, and William decided there was nothing else to be done._

_"Help? Someone please help?" He waited a few minutes and shouted as loud as he could. "HELP!" He shouted and shouted and shouted, and even though he didn't want to, he started to feel a little bit scared, when suddenly a few small rocks hopped and tumbled down into his hole._

_"Hey... hey is someone down there?" A head popped over the edge. He couldn't make out his face because the sun was too bright and there were too many shadows, but William knew it was the other boy._

_"Help? I'm stuck! I slipped, and I can't reach..." William jumped to demonstrate._

_"Okay, just a minute..." The boy disappeared for just a moment, and William whimpered. "Sorry, it was too slippery over there." The boy appeared from a different angle. "I won't leave you, I promise. I will never leave you." He reached his hands down to William. "Can you grab my arms and climb up the side?" William eyed him warily. "I won't leave you, and I won't let you go, okay? You can do it."_

_Blinking rapidly, William nodded. "Yeth- uhm yes, I think I can." He jumped and grabbed onto the boy's arms. The other boy winced and grunted as he shifted his stance, but he never let go. It took a bit of tugging, and struggling, but the other boy helped William up onto the ledge, and they both collapsed to catch their breath._

_"Are you okay?"_

_"I think so. I just..." William clasped his hands in his lap. "Thank you, uhm..."_

_"I'm John."_

_"John." William whispered. He repeated it. "John." That was a good name, he thought with a nod. "I'm William." He finally had the nerve to look up at his rescuer, but John wasn't looking at him. John was frowning and gripping the edge of a rock, and he was staring down at... "Oh! You're bleeding." William was on his knees and scrambled to look at John's foot._

_"Don't touch!" John hissed and pulled his foot back._

_"I won't, I just... It looks bad." There was a lot of blood. More than William had ever seen. He looked up at John and saw the other boy try to hide the fact that he was crying. "Does it hurt?" John nodded. William stood. John got hurt helping him. He had to help John. "I'll get help, okay? I'm a fast runner. The fastest in my class."_

_"Come right back?" John sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand._

_William nodded. "I'll come back, I promise." And then he ran faster than he ever had._

 

When your legs don't work like they used to before  
And I can't sweep you off of your feet  
Will your mouth still remember the taste of my love?  
Will your eyes still smile from your cheeks?

 

_"William, what are you doing?" The small, innocent voice that use to bring him peace, that had once saved his life, did nothing but torment him._

_"No one calls me that anymore." He blinked up at the apparition before him with unfocused eyes through the grimy greasy hair that had fallen across his face._

_"I do." The little towheaded boy with the fathomless blue eyes whispered. His brow creased with... it was concern... possibly fear. He was too pure, too good to look at him with judgment. His little fingers gripped a blue toy dog._

_"Well stop. Just... stop. I'm Shezza now..."_

_The hallucination frowned. "I like William. I..."_

_"Well you aren't here..." Shezza snarled. He tried to lift himself from the damp, mouldy mattress just enough to turn his back on this unwanted intruder. "You left me, and never came back..." His strength gave out, and he collapsed back into the same spot. "You promised..."_

_"I'm sorry..."_

_"Why are you here?" Covering his eyes with his hand, Shezza growled._

_"You're in trouble." He sounded urgent. "You need to get help."_

_"You sound like my brother."_

_"No. Something's wrong. Call him. Please call him. If you don't call, I won't be able to find you. I'm going to need to find you." The specter before him was growing agitated... He was panicking._

_Shezza realized his heart was racing... His gut, oh fuck... Something was wrong... Something... He fumbled for the mobile and begged his trembling fingers to work. Unsure whether or not he'd actually been successful, Shezza dropped the mobile to the mattress and lay convulsing, his hollow eyes staring up at his friend... his... "John..."_

_"I promise. I'll find you." And then the world went black._

 

And, darling, I will be loving you 'til we're 70  
And, baby, my heart could still fall as hard at 23  
And I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways  
Maybe just the touch of a hand  
Well, me—I fall in love with you every single day  
And I just wanna tell you I am

 

_"John, you should know that I consider myself married to my work. I'm flattered, but..."_

_"No, I’m not asking. No..." John glanced away in that exasperated way that only he could. The look that was at once infuriating and endearing, all because of that damn quirky lopsided smirk. "I’m just saying, it’s all fine..."_

_He searched John's face and realized his error immediately. John looked exactly as lost as Sherlock felt in that moment. There was something... Something in that expressive face, in those brilliant eyes the color of the ocean... His heart knew what his mind did not; that would not come until later. Instead he nodded and said, "Good. Thank you," because what else was he suppose to say?_ Never mind. Turns out I was wrong. Maybe we should consider our options...

_Then he'd spotted the black cab, and they were off. Running and running and running. It was mad (even by Sherlock's standards), exhilarating and dangerous. John was enthusiastic, and Sherlock was brilliant. Until they caught up to the cab and he'd said, "Welcome to London," which was the dumbest thing he'd ever said, but John didn't mock him. He simply caught his breath and they were off running again. And then they were laughing, huddled together in the entryway of 221._

_And since he was capable of being a royal arse, he'd bellowed, "Mrs Hudson! Doctor Watson will take the room upstairs." Because Sherlock couldn't say,_ John, I need you here. This is where you're meant to be.

 

So, honey, now  
Take me into your loving arms  
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars  
Place your head on my beating heart  
I'm thinking out loud  
Maybe we found love right where we are

_"Take my hand!"_

_Because John trusted him, believed in him, he did. And because John was John, and that meant perfect, he made a joke. "Now people will definitely talk."_

_Then they ran. They ran and ran and ran. And it wasn't brilliant. It was terrible. Because they were racing toward the destruction that Sherlock had brought upon them. If John had known, he would have fought. He would have... But no, he didn't know. Couldn't have known. And so he charged blindly into the fray, ever loyal, ever the good soldier. And Sherlock clung to John's good faith until the very last moments. Until it was time. It was selfish, he knew it was, but he needed... what? What did he need? He needed..._

_John. Just John._

_There was only one way. It had to be. He had to save John, and the only way to save him was to watch him break. And Sherlock said, "Goodbye, John," because he couldn't say,_ I'll come back, I promise.

 

When my hair's all but gone and my memory fades  
And the crowds don't remember my name  
When my hands don't play the strings the same way  
I know you will still love me the same

 

_Sherlock was too broken. Too changed. Too scarred. Had seen too much and been gone too long. There was nothing left. A shell, and nothing more. His mind was addled with fever and fear. He hated that his actions had led others into harm's way. Hated that he hadn't been smarter. That he'd had to rely on Mycroft's help to escape. He hated himself._

_He hated the fact that he knew John would hate him too. But John's hatred would be justified. Sherlock deserved it. He welcomed it, because John actively hating him was better than John continuing to live with the weight of Sherlock's choices. He expected it. Waited for it. Waited and waited and waited._

_There was no hate. No harsh words, no anger fueled aggression. Only gentle hands. Steady, compassionate, loving hands that mended and bathed, soothed and healed. Beautiful hands and strong arms that supported and embraced, welcomed and protected. There were tears of joy, tears of fearful realization, tears of regret, and eventually tears of relief. But no hate. Never hate._

_And then there was John's heart. He offered it so freely, so completely, that after time, after they'd rebuilt, after they'd grown, the part of Sherlock's heart that had belonged to John all along finally remembered. He remembered the little towheaded boy who rescued him from a gap in the rocks. He remembered the eyes, blue as the ocean, and just as deep. He remembered the late nights under the stars. And finally, finally nothing else mattered._

'Cause, honey, your soul could never grow old, it's evergreen  
And, baby, your smile's forever in my mind and memory  
I'm thinking 'bout how people fall in love in mysterious ways  
Maybe it's all part of a plan  
Well, I'll just keep on making the same mistakes  
Hoping that you'll understand

 

_John, who was the rational one, skipping his mobile like a stone over the water._

_John, who didn't trust easily, leaning back against his chest and allowing himself to be held as the sun rose._

_John, who was not given to flights of fancy, weaving garlands out of flowers._

_John, who knew Sherlock's heart, and why he had to do what he'd done, replacing the stark cold memories with new memories forged together._

_John, who was everything and everything and everything, saying yes._

 

So, baby, now  
Take me into your loving arms  
Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars  
Oh, darling, place your head on my beating heart  
I'm thinking out loud  
But maybe we found love right where we are  
Oh, baby, we found love right where we are  
And we found love right where we are

 

"Sherlock? Oh, shit... No, Bluebell!" John's attempt at sternness was lost in his laughter as the dripping dog chose to shake the rain from her fur the instant she stepped into the sitting room. "Couldn't wait two minutes for me to get a towel?" He shook his head, scratched her ears, then shrugged out of his coat. "We got halfway around the park, and it just started pouring." He disappeared down the hall and returned a few minutes later, having changed into pyjama bottoms and a new t-shirt. He started the kettle and used a tea towel to finish drying off Bluebell as he waited.

Sherlock watched every movement from his chair, completely enthralled. This was his life. His real life. He was 98.02% certain he was not dreaming -- the realistic dreams set in the other time at the other 221b with the other Holmes and Watson proved to be somewhat problematic as of late.

"...Sherlock?"

"Mhmm?"

"Tea." John held the mug out to him, the endearing, infuriating lopsided smile firmly in place. Sherlock took the mug with a nod of thanks. "I thought you were going to meet with your brother. And then finalize things with Angelo?" John sat his mug on the table next to his chair, and turned to build up the fire enough to fight off the dampness in the air.

"Ah, yes. He uhm... He was preoccupied."

"Well, he is the British government."

"No... No, that's not..." Sherlock took a sip of his tea and then set it aside. He willed himself not to blush just thinking about it, but it was a lost cause. "He and Violet, they uhm..."

"Oh, god." John stood up so quickly he bumped his head on the mantle. "You didn't walk in on that, did you?"

"NO, oh... nonono." Sherlock chuckled. "But I did walk in on him, well, happy."

"I can see how that would upset you." John cocked an eyebrow at him.

"I'm not upset, I'm..." Sherlock shrugged. "I'm happy for him. For them."

"Okay, so..."

Sherlock huffed. "John, are you happy?"

John rolled his eyes. "Deliriously so."

"Be serious."

"I'm sorry. Yeah. Yes, I am very happy. More so than I have ever been." John sat down in his chair, propped his elbows on his knees, and clasped his hands in front of him. "Are you happy, Sherlock?"

"I think that I am." John chuckled at the look of deep concentration on Sherlock's face. "I came straight back here from Myc's, and I've been thinking about it ever since."

"Sherlock, just because Mycroft and Violet..."

"No, I know. We can talk about that later," Sherlock waved him off.

"Oh... wow, okay." John blinked in surprise.

"I thought my happiness was directly related to my proximity to you."

"Oh? And?"

"It's not." Sherlock frowned at the revelation.

John nodded. "Go on."

"All of my happiest memories are with you. But, you are in some way connected to most of my unhappiness too."

"It's called life, Sherlock. We're human beings. We go through things. We have experiences. Some are happy, some are not. We get to learn to love, and sometimes we have to experience loss. We grow, and growth often brings pain before it's all said and done." John shrugged. "We aren't always going to be happy. But I'm okay with that as long as whatever I'm going through, I'm going through it with you."

"John." Sherlock sighed, the crease in his brow finally easing. He stood, and pulled John up into a tight embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Thinking Out Loud" by Ed Sheeran


	10. Cracks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Life is pain. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something.”  
> \- William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Sally was amazed how easily Al fit into her life, his books and clothes and toiletries somehow seemed to belong next to hers, as if they had always been there. Even more surprising in her mind was how much she trusted him. It was not something that came easily to her; from early on, she had learned the hard way how risky it was to trust anyone, especially those who claimed to 'love' her.

She had been raised by a dutiful, but distant nana, and a mostly absent father; a figure who loomed large, a beat cop who had delusions of grandeur, always claimed to know whodunit, would make her big promises, but would rarely deliver. Her mother, who they claimed had 'died young, so tragic,' essentially became her first case. She had a single snap of a woman with sad eyes, but a lovely smile and Sally's own wild curls. As a young girl, the image haunted her dreams, became the imaginary friend who never left her. She slept with the snap under her pillow, and believed it kept the nightmares away; she whispered her fears and hopes to it, until the day she realised she was a lie.

One damp Tuesday, she always hated Tuesdays after, she left school early, feeling ill; she returned to her flat to bump into an older version of the now faded and wrinkled snap. She opened the door as Sally was about to put her key into the lock. The woman took a step backward, shot a glance at her own mother who buried her face in her hands, then pushed past Sally without a word. Her nana disappeared into her room for the next two days. Sally spent those two days methodically going through the flat, thankful that her nana wasn't a pack rat, but one of the most organised and least sentimental people she knew. She was about to give up until she got up on a stepladder and found a large wooden box on the top shelf of the hall closet. She walked into her tiny bedroom and closed the door, then sat down on the floor. She took a deep breath and opened the box. She found her own birth certificate, listing her mother as one 'Mary Jones', age 18, father 'Peter Donovan', age 25. Really, 'Mary Jones?' that's the best name she could come up with? There were no pictures of mother and child, no baby books, or tattered blankets, just a few stacks of envelopes, mostly bills, but there was one small collection of unopened envelopes, the size of greeting cards. She looked at the postmarks and noticed they were all near the date of her birthday. She was twelve, had just had a birthday two weeks ago. There were eleven envelopes, wrapped with a red ribbon, the last had been added in the last few days. 

Sally sat at her dining room table, twenty eight years later staring at a smaller wooden box, sipping at a nicely aged single malt, a gift from Mycroft, one of the few rewards she ever accepted for her part in the 'resolution of the Baskerville situation' his neat, exact words on a small tag that was still attached to the bottle. Three more unopened envelopes rested with the others. The cards had stopped when she was fifteen. The woman with sad eyes who had given her the impossible tangle of curls never appeared at their flat again, and within ten years Donovan had buried both her nana and her father. She was an orphan at 23, but she'd always felt alon-

"Hey gorgeous, Happy Birthday." Donovan jumped as Al wrapped his arms around her.

"How di- ah, yes, of course you saw my file before we met, so you know all of my deep, dark secrets..." She muttered into her empty glass.

"No. I don't know all of your secrets, love. I don't know why, for instance, on your 40th birthday, you are sitting in the dark, staring at a box, and sipping some superior single malt without me." She pushed away from the table, but he stopped her, and walked over to the cupboard and got a glass. He poured himself a double and replenished her drink; then he sat down next to her and waited, patiently as always.

Sally opened the box, as she did every year. She pulled out the fourteen unopened cards, her birth certificate and the most recent addition, a death record for a 'Jane Doe' who had died at approximately 33, of an overdose. It was the one favour she had asked of Mycroft, to discover the whereabouts of her mother. After she had given him all the details she knew along with her birth certificate and the crumpled photo, he looked at her sadly, but did not try to dissuade her, simply bowed and departed. When he returned a week later, with a manila envelope, he had hesitated only briefly, before placing it on the table in front of her.

"I have done all I can to confirm this individual was indeed your mother, Donovan, there was a coroner's report, as it was a suspected overdose, there were photos taken, and I reviewed them only to confirm the...you do not wish to see them. It is enough to know that the woman described on the death certificate was a very close match to the photo you gave me, we went to the trouble to age that image, using the most recent software available. I am sorry, Donovan, for your -"

"I never knew her, it isn't a loss, I just needed to know. I appreciate your efforts to answer the question honestly. You are the first to tell me the truth about her, you have no idea how much it means."

Mycroft had placed a hand on her shoulder, paused for a moment, then murmured, "It was the very least I could do to repay your - I had wished to give you something of worth -"

She had turned in her seat and looked up at him. "You gave me the gift of your considerable talents and resources to answer a lifelong question. I no longer have to wonder about her, I no longer have to waste a moment of my time to consider where she may be, if she is suffering, or if she is happy. You have given me something of great worth, Mycroft, never doubt that."

He had nodded and departed as quietly as he had arrived. 

"I never knew anything about her, other than the fact she had given birth to me. As far as I know, she never married my father, and he never once spoke of her. Her own mother would pay the bills she accumulated, and she sent me birthday cards, which I have never opened. Every year, since my thirteenth birthday, I get them out, and look at her handwriting, how she wrote my name, the little flourish on the 'y'... there was never a return address, though I don't know that I would've ever tried to find her if there ever had been. I tried to figure out what she smelled like, whether she used perfume or a special soap..."

Andy put down his glass, then took Donovan's hand in his. "I am grateful to her, Donovan. No matter what else she did in her life, she brought you into the world. If that is the only decent thing she ever did...it was enough."

Donovan looked into his eyes, they were sparkling with unshed tears for a woman neither of them ever met, but without her, this moment would have never happened.

He kissed her, then walked over to the box of vinyl records and pulled out an album, blew on it, placed it almost reverently on the turntable, then laid the needle down on the fifth track, it had a distinct groove as it had been played and replayed - he walked over to her and took the glass from her shaking hands, and placed it on the table, as she was now holding on to it as if it was the only thing keeping her in one piece. He helped her out of the chair and held her in his arms as the words managed to break through her carefully constructed but suddenly fragile walls:

 

"...Don’t dwell on what has passed away  
or what is yet to be.

Ah the wars they will be fought again  
The holy dove she will be caught again  
bought and sold and bought again  
the dove is never free.

Ring the bells that still can ring  
Forget your perfect offering  
There is a crack in everything  
That’s how the light gets in..."*

 

He held her as she finally crumbled; she was finally able to weep for everything she had never known, for all of the doubts that had kept her from knowing she was enough as she was. She finally understood she could not have arrived to this place, this moment unless she had gone through life as she had; she recognised that her shattered pieces somehow fit neatly into Al's own broken bits. Together, they made a whole, a bit misshapen and imperfect, but they wouldn't have worked any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * from 'Anthem' written by Leonard Cohen


	11. Tango

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Does it have any sports in it?”  
> “Fencing. Fighting. Torture. Poison. True Love. Hate. Revenge. Giants. Hunters. Bad men. Good men. Beautifulest Ladies. Snakes. Spiders... Pain. Death. Brave men. Cowardly men. Strongest men. Chases. Escapes. Lies. Truths. Passion. Miracles.”  
> “Sounds okay,” I said and I kind of closed my eyes.  
> -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

"Do come in, dear." Mrs. Hudson ushered Angelo in the front door, shook her head and tsk'd. "Set that down and let me take your coat. This is quite the unexpected surprise." She patted her friend's arm and hung up his dripping coat.

"Sherlock was suppose to come by to finalize a few things for the reception, including the dessert menu, but he texted and said something came up." Angelo shrugged. "Thought I'd drop off a few samples. Is John in?"

"They're both here..." She was cut short by a loud crash, a string of curses, and an unexpected burst of laughter. Mrs. Hudson rolled her eyes and motioned for Angelo to follow her. "I'll make tea and we'll both go up."

Angelo watched the ceiling warily. "What do you suppose... Oh. Uhm, maybe I'll just leave these samples with you." He winked at her.

Mrs. Hudson laughed. "I assure you, it's nothing like that. Sherlock's been teaching John to dance."

"Dancing?" Angelo guffawed. "Doesn't sound too promising. We should show them a thing or two."

Setting her second best tea service out on a tray, Mrs. Hudson's smile was a bit devious. "Perhaps."

"Are they... You think after everything, they'll be all right?"

"Goodness, yes." Mrs. Hudson dismissed the question as she filled the tea pot.

"It's just that John seems worried..."

"Oh, John always frets, poor dear. I think Sherlock winds him up on purpose some days."

"I believe that is true, but this was different. He was in the other day, hunched over a notebook, scribbling away. He was so frustrated he didn't even eat anything. John always eats something!" Angelo's face was etched in genuine concern.

With a sigh, Mrs. Hudson lifted the tray. "They've decided to write their own vows. Sherlock finished his the first day..."

"Of course."

"...and poor John has a bit of writer's block."

"He told you this?" Angelo opened the flat door for Mrs. Hudson. He picked up his box full of smaller boxes of samples and followed her up the stairs.

"No, I saw the evidence of it in the bin." She glanced over her shoulder. "It's quite bad." Angelo chuckled and they both froze as they could hear John cursing and Sherlock's laughter once more. "Those two."

The flat door was standing open, and once they reached the landing, they could see Sherlock and John at least attempting to dance.

 

* _Oh Lord_  
_Ooh somebody, ooh somebody_  
_Can anybody find me somebody to love?_  
_(Can anybody find me someone to love)_  
_Got no feel, I got no rhythm_  
_I just keep losing my beat (you just keep losing and losing)_  
_I'm OK, I'm alright (he's alright, he's alright)_  
_I ain't gonna face no defeat (yeah yeah)_

 

"This song is too fast. It's impos- shit. Sorry." John was breathing hard and giggling, and tripping over his own feet.

"It's not. You need to learn to be flexible... Stop trying to lead."

"Not."

"There... stop. This would be easier if you just... Ow."

"Sorry... sorry. Look I can barely follow you, I'm not intentionally..."

Sherlock simply tried to turn them, and John managed to trip them both up. He stumbled back, and Sherlock tried to catch him, but they both ended up in a cursing, laughing heap on the floor.

"Owww. Fuck. You okay?" John gigglesnorted.

Sherlock laughed, sprawled half on top of him, nodded. "This is my own fault. I understand that now. You're a hopeless case."

"Oi!" John tried to shove Sherlock off of him, but found himself trapped in a tangle of too many arms and legs. "C'mon, get off..." He could hardly breathe for laughing.

"Don't mind us dears." Mrs. Hudson smirked and stepped carefully around her tenants to place the tea service in the table. Angelo followed right behind and deposited the samples on the coffee table.

"Mrs. Hudson... Mrs. Turner." Sherlock didn't move, he only nodded in greeting. John found this incredibly absurd, and started laughing again, which set Sherlock off once more.

"Oh boys, do grow up." Mrs. Hudson scolded, but her smile was fond.

Sherlock seemed content to stay where he was, essentially wrapped around John, especially once Bluebell wandered over and flopped down on John's other side.

"Oh come on. Not fair." John tried to get free. "Sorry, Angelo..."

"No worries, my friend." Angelo chuckled. "I stopped by unannounced. Sherlock canceled our meeting, so I just wanted to drop off these dessert samples for the reception."

"Tiramisu?" Sherlock sat up a bit at that, and John took his opportunity to shove him away. He stood and helped Sherlock up.

"Yes, of course. Tiramisu, a rum panna cotta, cannoli, pasticciotto..."

"Bloody hell," John shook his head as he accepted a cup of tea from Mrs. Hudson. "How many things did you make?"

Angelo hummed in contemplation. "Eight. Nine if you count the cream cake, which is also called wedding cake, as I'm sure you're aware. I assumed we'd have that no matter what." He moved to hand John a box with a piece of the cake in it.

Sherlock snatched the box away, and held out another one. "Yes, of course. Wedding cake. Obviously. And tiramisu." He shook the box he was holding at John, and waited for him to take it. "John prefers the cannoli, though he always defers to my choice," he held up the tiramisu, "so we'll have cannoli too."

Mrs. Hudson made a pleased sound in response. She patted Sherlock's arm and grinned at John. "Lovely."

"John, I had no idea! Say something next time!" Angelo shook his head in regret.

"I like tiramisu just fine!" John huffed. "Sherlock, it's too much. Won't the cake be sufficient?"

Ignoring John's protests, Sherlock divided the samples into two piles. "Angelo, I think we'll go with the cake, of course..."

"Of course."

"And just an assortment of the items in this pile..." He tapped the box on top of the largest of the two stacks. "And the cannoli, of course. You'll make sure some are reserved for John won't you?"

"Of course, anything for the two of you," Angelo beamed. "And it's all my gift to you."

"Thank y-" Sherlock actually reached out to shake his hand, but John stepped in.

"It's too much. Isn't it too much?" John glanced at Mrs. Hudson, pleading silently for backup. She simply smiled innocently. Angelo and Sherlock both looked at him as if he were crazy. John sighed in resignation.

"Now, that's settled... Martha, darling, what do you say? Should we show these novices how to dance?"

Sherlock looked wounded. "I know how to dance."

"And I'm sure you're perfectly adequate," Mrs. Hudson smiled sweetly, Sherlock huffed, "but what we saw was nothing more than a mess. John, do you mind?" She pointed at his laptop, and paused a moment to hear the song that was playing.

 

* _You're lovin' this town_  
_Even if that doesn't ring true_  
_You've been all over_  
_And it's been all over you_  
_It's a beautiful day_  
_Don't let it get away_  
_It's a beautiful day_

 

"I do love that song. Such lovely boys. Not suitable for a tango though."

"You know U2?" John gaped.

"A tango?" Sherlock spoke at the same time.

"Oh, yes, David introduced us... When was that do you think?" Mrs. Hudson looked to Angelo.

"Had to be '85. Live Aid, wasn't it?"

"You're right. They had a bit of trouble with the drugs back then."

"Well," Angelo cocked an eyebrow, "who didn't?"

"True," Mrs. Hudson chuckled.

"What?" It was Sherlock's turn to gape.

"You're serious?" John looked between them in awe. "Wait... David? David who?"

"Well, David Evans is how we know him, you probably know of him by The Edge."

"Wait. Does U2... No." John shook his head.

"No, just David. You'd be surprised the countries bands can get into that no one else can." Mrs. Hudson sipped her tea, and watched as John, still shaking his head, scrolled through a list of music. "That will do dear."

"I'm sure Myc could introduce you sometime." Angelo shrugged. "David's great. Had my back a few times."

"You saved his life in Tokyo," Mrs. Hudson smiled up at Angelo and he held his hand out to her. "Now boys, it's been a few years. And remember, my hip..."

"Oh please, I'm the one who needs to make excuses. Martha here practically wrote the field guide on using dance as a cover for gathering intelligence. She taught Myc and Violet. She perfected it with Frank... How many contests did you win?"

"Now, don't bring that up, that was a million years ago." She swatted his arm.

"All I know is that I have never been so jealous of anyone as I was the first time I saw you dance with Frank." Angelo's smile was wistful.

"Oh god." Sherlock covered his face and dropped down onto the couch. He peeked through his fingers to see John staring at the two of them, a combination of shock and amusement on his face.

"Did you two ever..."

"No... John. Why?" Sherlock groaned.

"Just field partners, dear." Mrs. Hudson winked.

"We got up to some shenanigans though..."

"Oh god. Okay. All right, then. Ready?" John glanced at Sherlock with wide eyes. "And you're sure about the song?"

"Yes, dear. Also nice boys. Heard them the first time at that same concert." Mrs. Hudson nodded.

"Okay." With a shrug John sat next to Sherlock on the couch and hit play on his laptop.

 

* _Wake me up before you go-go_  
_Don't leave me hanging on like a yo-yo_  
_Wake me up before you go-go_  
_I don't want to miss it when you hit that high_  
_Wake me up before you go-go_  
_'Cause I'm not plannin' on going solo_  
_Wake me up before you go-go_  
_Take me dancing tonight_  
_I wanna hit that high (yeah, yeah)_

 

"I don't know which is worse..." John whispered to Sherlock. "The song choice, or the fact that this is clearly not the first time they've done this."

Sherlock groaned. "No. What's worst of all is Angelo doing... Oh god... that... and that... to Mrs. Hudson." He buried his face in John's shoulder.

"Now pay attention boys," Mrs. Hudson called, she hadn't even broken a sweat, "this is where it gets interesting."

"Oh bloody hell..." John mumbled as he patted Sherlock's head. "It got worse. Keep 'em covered, love. I'll take this one for the team." He shuddered.

"I owe you." Sherlock whispered.

"So very much."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Somebody to Love" by Queen  
> *"Beautiful Day" by U2  
> *"Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" by Wham!


	12. Apologies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It's not important, believe me; the past has a way of being past.”  
> \- William Goldman, The Princess Bride

"Damn."

Violet looked up from her laptop and sighed as she watched Mycroft struggle with tying his shoes.

"I told you to get some loafers, love."

Mycroft's look of disgust needed no words, but he began to sputter, "I have never worn them and I will not allow my 'infirmity' to dicta-"

Violet had moved from her desk to stand in front of him. She touched his face and he stopped, then gazed up at her. "You are not 'infirm' in any way, shape or form, love, I do believe you proved that last night? Hmmm? There are ways of making your life easier, and -"

"Vi - I'm already running late, and you know how he is these days, but, I'll be home soon and then -"

"Hmmm...I look forward to it."

 

Mycroft winced as he looked down at his watch. Sherlock would be furious. Finally, the black sedan pulled up in front of the venerable haberdashery that his family had used for generations. He was still adjusting to having to take more time to do anything, and his frustration level was nearing its peak. He was about to open the door when he looked up to see Sherlock open it for him, and offer a hand to help him out of the car.

"I'm sorry I'm so late, Sherlock - I - there's no excuse -"

"I just arrived myself, Myc, relax." Mycroft took his brother's hand and nodded as he allowed Sherlock to assist him. He usually loathed depending on anyone, showing any weakness was simply not on, and especially in front of his brother.

"John's fitting is tomorrow. I, uhm, wanted a chance to talk to you, alone. I was thinking we could have lunch afterwards?"

Mycroft turned at the tone of his brother's voice, and felt the younger man's arm supporting him as they walked toward the shop. "I'd like that very much, Sherlock."

 

"Mycie!!"

"William, what is it?" Mycroft briefly looked up from his book. He hated these holidays at their Aunt Tilly's, this summer would be his last as he would finally be old enough to stay home on his own - "What happened to you? Why are you soaking wet? You know you're not allowed to go into the water without supervision -"

"I, uhm, I met someone, a boy. A boy who actually likes me - he, uhm, helped me when I fell - he's downstairs, Auntie Tilly is sewing up his foot, he's -"

Mycroft managed to control his movements and carefully marked his page, then put his book down. He narrowed his eyes and observed his brother; he was still trying to catch his breath from a long run, his eyes were unusually bright, and he was actually almost smiling. 

"He's what, William?" Mycroft spoke quietly and continued to scan his brother's face.

"He'th, he's brilliant, Myc, come on, come meet him, please?"

"I'm a bit busy, William."

William bit his lip and looked down at his feet. "Sure, Myc. Thee you later."

Mycroft sighed as he saw his brother's slight shoulders droop as he left the library; he picked up his book again and tried to focus on the words, but found it impossible. He found he was actually curious about this 'friend' of William's. He once again closed his book, stood up and walked into the hallway. It was oddly quiet, but once he looked into the sitting room, he understood why. Tilly was whispering to the boy, a strong blond child of perhaps 7...no, he was 8, who was focused on his breathing, holding tightly onto William's hand, trying so hard not to cry. William was crying, tears Mycroft suspected his brother wasn't aware of, were streaming down his cheeks as he stood by the boy. Just then the boy looked at William and wiped his tears away, and smiled at him. "It's okay, William, it doesn't really hurt all that much."

"Pwomise?" William tried to smile back, but the smile failed to reach his eyes.

"I promise."

Mycroft leaned back against the wall and shook his head. Too soon, William, too soon. You've met him too soon, you aren't ready yet....

 

"Myc?"

"Hmmm? 

"Where did you go?"

"I was just remembering - the day you met John. I - I sometimes wonder how different your lives would have been if you had been allowed to keep in touch with him. I saw how you were with him, how kind he was to you, and I knew - I knew what you were -"

"Myc - don't. Please?" Sherlock looked at his brother's ashen face reflected in the mirror and shook his head.

"Let me, I need to tell you, a confession of sorts, I suppose. I thought, I believed it was too soon, too early. I called mum and told her - she needed to see. It's my fault, Sherlock, that you and John - it was jealousy more than anything - I, I was jealous that you had been able to find someone that loved you so simply, so truly at such an early age. It wasn't fair."

Sherlock snorted. "Fair...really...?" He looked down to brush off a speck of invisible lint from his crisp white shirt and took a deep breath. "Why are you telling me now, Myc? 

"I wanted to apologise, perhaps, if you had known you had someone -"

Sherlock looked up to meet his brother's eyes, and shrugged. "I always knew, Myc, he was always there with me, as I was with him. My mistakes, my poor judgment had nothing to do with him not physically being with me. We, we don't need to be 'together' in order to be - he was with me through everything - I know you don't quite believe in - whatever we are - it just took time for us to be ready to - hmm - understand. John still can't even find the words, he still - he has always been the more rational one..."

The elderly tailor, who had known them since birth cleared his throat and entered the room, essentially ending the conversation. He helped Sherlock into his vest, a soft silver with a touch of cerulean (blue, John would mumble under his breath) then kept a close eye on him as he slipped into the morning coat.

Mycroft blinked at his brother's image and nodded to Lawrence. "Perfect, as always." Lawrence bowed and left the brothers to themselves. 

"I know I've always - you may have thought I - I just never wanted you to - you always felt everything in ways I didn't understand, until just recently - I was trying to protect you."

Sherlock turned away from the mirror, and Mycroft was reminded of the little boy from so long ago. "I never wanted you to protect me, Myc. I just wanted to know that you loved me, I needed to know I was okay as I was -"

"I know that, now. I seem to be playing catch up, I find myself wrong-footed and unsure of most of what I thought I understood to be true. I hope someday you will be able to forgive me?"

Sherlock's face seemed to stop. Mycroft had only seen it a few times, but it meant that Sherlock's internal workings had been overwhelmed by some strong emotion. Rarely was it caused by Mycroft's own words and he found himself at sea, until he reached out and gently touched his brother's hand and somehow found the words he needed to say.

"You were always enough, Sherlock. It was my own insecurities, that stopped me from allowing you to know how much I loved you. I thought it was a weakness, something others could exploit and use against me if I allowed myself to - damn. I'm truly sorry, brother mine."

Sherlock finally seemed to come back online after a moment and nodded then called out, "Lawrence, do you mind if we take a break for lunch? We'll be back in a bit?"

"Of course, Master Will - Sherlock, I'll take your things, everything to your liking, Sir?"

"As always, Lawrence."

 

They settled for a nearby tea shop, which was fine, as neither was feeling the least bit peckish and Sherlock knew Mycroft shouldn't walk far with or without his stick, which he had left behind in the car.

Sherlock poured out the tea for both of them, added a few teaspoons of sugar to his own and stirred it for what seemed to be an eternity. He cleared his throat then removed a box from his pocket and placed it in front of his brother.

"I have never properly thanked you for saving me, Myc. Not just from Moran, but all of those times when you knew I needed saving, mostly from myself. I have spent a ridiculous amount of time resenting you for what I believed to be an intrusion into my life. Up on the roof, there was a moment when everything slowed down, when Moran fired at me, and John charged at him. All I could see was you in a heap, injured, because of me; all I could think of was how ungrateful you must have thought me to be, and I couldn't let you die thinking that I didn't understand. So - mmm - thank you. I tried to think of something to give you, as a token of my appreciation for everything you did that led John and me to where we are now, or rather will be in a few days' time."

Mycroft opened the box and blinked. Inside was a silver compass, beautifully made, and obviously very old, and well - loved by a few previous owners. He lifted it out of the box, and examined it, it was solid, well-balanced with an intricate starburst design -

"So you don't lose your way -" Sherlock mumbled into his tea.

"Wherever -"

"Greece, there is an extraordinary antique shop in our village -"

"But, that means -"

"Yes, I - I had always intended to find a way to, at the very least, make peace with you, recent events have simply made it a bit more, hmmm...monumental, I suppose."

"I will treasure it always, brother mine, as I treasure you."

Sherlock smirked but understood the sentiment, no matter how corny.

"Come, let us make sure everything still fits properly." Again, he stood and offered his brother his arm. "Lean on me, brother, I won't let you down again."

"I know, Sherlock. I know."


	13. Battlefield

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “People don't remember me. Really. It's not a paranoid thing; I just have this habit of slipping through memories. It doesn't bother me all that much, except I guess that's a lie; it does. For some reason, I test very high on forgettability.” -- William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

_John resumed plucking blades of grass and letting them float away on the breeze. His knee and shoulder and elbow kept bumping into William, who was clutching Jean-Henri tight to his chest. He was too afraid to talk, because he was too sad, and he didn't want to cry. He wanted to run, faster and farther than he'd ever run, him and William, and that way they could stay friends, brothers, together. But he couldn't do that, he knew. So, they sat shoulder to shoulder, not talking, just being still together._

_"Come on, Johnny. Time to go!" Mum called as she neatly folded up the road map and gathered up the remnants of their lunch._

_William whimpered and John had to squeeze his eyes tight shut to keep the tears in. "I don't wanna go..." John whispered. "I miss you already."_

_"My heart hurts." There was a tremor in William's voice as he took John's hand._

_William knelt in front of him, still clutching Jean-Henri with one hand and John’s hand with the other. "I promise promise." He didn't need to tell John what was being promised, John already knew. They would find each other. They would not forget. And no matter what, the future was theirs together. He understood it in his head yes, but he knew it for certain in his heart._

_"Promise promise." John tried to smile up at William, but his mouth just didn't want to smile anymore. He sniffed and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand._

_"C'mon, soldier. Front and center!" Papa called over to him. "I promised your mother we'd be home before dark."_

_John saw the panic in William's eyes. He knew that's what it was because he could feel it too. He surged up onto his knees and wrapped his arms around William. "I love you, William."_

_William mumbled into John’s chest, and it was enough for John to know he was loved in return._

_Harry shouted something rude, and mum scolded her, but then turned to John with a sad smile. "Come along now, darling. We really do need to go."_

_John leaned back and wiped away William's tears. "I'm gonna learn so many constellations to teach you."_

_"And I'll learn all the bugs." William nodded._

_Pushing himself up off the ground, John held is hand out to help William up. They continued holding hands as they walked toward the car. "Next year, I'll know more countries, and we can plan our grown-up adventure."_

_"I wish we were already grown-ups." William sighed. John nodded._

_John peeked into the car and saw dumb Harry hogging up most of the space. He sighed again, and hugged his friend one more time. "Bye, William."_

_"Bye..." William tried not to sob as John climbed into the car and his mum slammed the door.  John crumpled onto the floor, and buried his face in his arms. Harry laughed at him._

_"Thank you for being my Johnny's friend," his mum smiled warmly and ruffled William's curls. "You're a good lad, William. Stay out of trouble, okay?" She winked at him and then climbed into the car._

_John's papa started the car, and he heard William shout "Wait, wait!" Scrambling up to the seat, John rolled the window down and leaned out. William held up Jean-Henri. "I didn't get you anything!" He seemed on the verge of tears again._

_"William, it's oka-"_

_"No! No it's not." He dropped Jean-Henri and dug frantically in his pockets. "Here!" He reached up and held out the brightest, bluest seashell either of them had ever seen._

_"But this is your favorite one."John tried to hand it back._

_"Just... I want... " William huffed._

_"I'll hold it for you?" John tried a smile and it worked a little better. William nodded._

_"And next year... Next year I'll win you a prize." William looked satisfied with his plan._

_John nodded. He was glad William was outside the car and not inside, because that meant William couldn't see the sad look exchanged by the grown-ups and the way mum looked at him. It made his tummy ache._

_"Off we go." John’s papa looked very sad._

_"Bye, William."_

_"Bye, John."_

_William stood still, holding Jean-Henri, and John watched through the window as more and more distance grew between them and William shrunk and vanished away._

_The two worst things John's young mind could imagine happening happened on that drive home._

_The first bad thing happened when they were halfway home, and mum allowed them each to get a chocolate bar at the petrol station. Once they were on the road, papa nodded, and he and mum told John and Harry that mum was sick, that she had been for months, but they hadn't wanted to worry them. Harry didn't say anything, she just stared out the window. John asked when mum would get better. Papa said the doctors were doing everything they could. John nodded and thought that was a reasonable answer. But his tummy ached again, and he didn't fuss when Harry took his chocolate._

_The second bad thing happened when papa pulled onto their street and John spotted the red postbox on the corner. He realized he didn't have William's address, so he couldn't write him. He didn't know what town he lived in. Or his last name even. None of that stuff mattered when they were together, and now he really would have to wait a whole year. He kept his face turned toward the window so Harry wouldn't call him a baby because of his tears, and he went straight to bed without any dinner because his tummy just ached too bad._

 

We are young  
(Heartache to heartache)  
Heartache to heartache  
(We stand)  
We stand

 

_It was a Tuesday. A Tuesday in August. One of the hottest days of the year. The air was thick. It stormed that night. John hated storms from that night on._

_John was on summer holiday from school. Two months since he'd seen William. He'd gone to the library to check out a book about stars and one about skeletons. He wanted to learn all the bone names, because that seemed like something William would like._

_Mum was in hospital, had been for days. All anyone would tell John was that the doctors were doing everything they could._

_Gran came to the library to get him before he could borrow his books. He huffed and pouted his way out to the car, and very nearly went into a full strop because Harry was already in the front seat. It wasn't until he had shouted that it was his turn and she knew it, that he realized Harry and gran were both crying._

_The doctors had done everything, but it wasn't enough._

_John had to get a new suit and a haircut, and he couldn't just get a minute alone to fully understand that mum was gone. She was gone. Family and neighbors seemed to be everywhere, in every room of their house. It wasn't until late that papa came home. Gran said he'd been at the hospital, but John knew he'd been to the pub too. Papa locked himself in his room and didn't come out until the next afternoon._

_John lay in bed that night, holding the blue seashell tight in his hand and talking to William. Telling him how scared he was, how much his heart hurt, how lonely he felt. It helped some, even if William wasn't really there._

_The next day was quieter. People still stopped by, but they were given some space. When papa finally emerged, gran had made lunch, and John was trying to decide if he wanted to eat or cry, because gran did make good toasted cheese, but she cut it wrong... and mum would never be there to cut it right again._

_"Don't we have to..." Harry ducked her head. "Doesn't  someone have to pick a casket and... and uhm..."_

_Papa shook his head. "We did that months ago." He realized what he'd said too late._

_"Liars! You said they would do everything they could, and she still died!" Harry raged and cried. "You knew and you lied to us!" She screamed, threw her plate, and when it smashed, she almost enjoyed throwing her water glass too. "I hate her. And I hate you," she screeched and ran up the stairs to her room._

_John who was definitely sad, scared, and lonely decided he was also a little bit angry, and throwing something seemed a pretty good idea. His little fingers started to close around the edge of his own plate when papa, who had hung his head during Harry's outburst, looked up at him with very serious eyes. "At least I have you, my brave little soldier. You'll have to be my second in command now, John. I don't know what to do with Harry, that was your mother's..." He shook his head. "But you'll be brave, won't you?"_

_Swallowing hard, John nodded. He let go of his plate. Papa ruffled his hair and locked himself back in his room. John didn't eat his squares instead of triangles toasted cheese. He also didn't cry. He had to be a brave soldier for papa, and that meant not showing anyone that he was sad-scared-lonely-angry._

_And six months later, when papa said there would be no trip to the beach, stoic little soldier John had marched himself to his room, and held William's seashell in his hand. "I'm sorry, William. I hope you can forgive me. I promise I'll find you. Promise promise." He felt silly for kissing the shell, but at least he hadn't cried._

 

No promises  
(No demands)  
No demands  
(Love is a battlefield)  
Love is a battlefield  
Whoo

 

_He couldn't see a thing. He'd thought they'd had a few more minutes. But that was the trouble with sandstorms, once they bore down on you, you were out of time._

_There'd been an ambush. John and his team had worked frantically to get the wounded to cover. There was one left. He'd dashed out, Murray close behind, and they'd managed to hoist the injured man up between them and make it halfway back to shelter before they were enveloped in sand._

_John couldn't hear anything, not even then wind anymore, he knew his ears must be packed with sand. There was so much sand, and it was dark, and looked almost red, and that's all there was. Dark red. God he was tired of red. So much red. And sand. He was just tired. But he couldn't stop. He could feel the weight of the second lieutenant against his side. And he could feel the grip he and Murray had on each other to help stabilize the wounded man. He had to keep going._

_Venturing a glimpse up, John thought he saw something move. His heart racing, he looked again._

_"C'mon, John!" William bounced impatiently. "Come. On."_

_John blinked, though he knew it would make little difference with the muck caked around his eyes. He didn't dare open his mouth, though he didn't need to. He knew he was seeing things, because the William before him was six years old, and he knew William was six years old twenty year ago._

_William rolled his eyes, and John's heart clenched. He thought of the little seashell tucked carefully under his gear in his left shirt pocket. His good luck. He took a faltering step forward._

_"No John. This way. Follow me, I know the way." William motioned for him to follow him._

_Murray would murder him if he ever told anyone the choice he made that day. He switched their course and followed the tiny form of his long-lost best friend. They trudged on and on, and suddenly he was so close to William he thought he might be able to reach out and touch him. John stretched out his hand, and yelped when someone was grabbing his arm and tugging him forward. And suddenly he and the injured man and Murray were tumbling to the floor, and someone was slamming a door._

_"Fuck, Doc. We thought you guys were goners."_

_John stayed down on his knees, trying to reacclimate to the tangible world, and trying to catch his breath. Someone shoved a canteen into his hands and he had to remind himself to rinse the sand out of his mouth very thoroughly before attempting to actually take a drink._

_Someone was moving the injured man. Murray was sprawled out, panting, next to him. William was gone._

_"Last time I follow you out, Captain arseface." Murray attempted a weak laugh, but was reduced to coughing._

_"Like hell it is. You love this kind of crazy shit." John actually did manage a laugh. Murray wheeze coughed and gave him a two finger salute. Not that he could even see it for all the sand._

_"How'd you know where to go, Doc?" Someone was helping him stand._

_"Thought I saw something..." He wanted to cry when he spotted the sink with the working taps._

_"Must've been your guardian angel."_

_John snorted. Even at six years old, John knew William was no angel. "Yeah, must've  been."_

 

We are strong  
No one can tell us we're wrong  
Searching our hearts for so long  
Both of us knowing  
Love is a battlefield

 

_"Oh shit. Fuck. Doc's hit." A familiar voice was cutting through the darkness and the searing fire in his chest that threatened to consume him whole. The voice was attached to hands that were dragging him..._

_Breathe. He couldn't remember how to... Breathe. If he thought the word... Breathe. ...maybe he'd be able to. Breathe. Fuck. The pain... it was too much. Breathe._

_"Watson. John you arsehole, open your damn eyes." The voice smacked him with one of the hands. He managed to force his eyes open enough to see Murray glaring down at him. "Fuck you if you think you're dying and leaving me here in this hell hole with these wankers."_

_"Piss off and let me die." John tried to laugh but his body was wracked with pain so severe he was convulsing with it. Firm hands were pressing him to the ground._

_"Not a goddamn chance, you bastard. We're moving you now."_

_The jarring movement from the ground to the transport proved too much, and John closed his eyes. His last thought was of six year old William and he uttered a desperate plea to any deity who cared to listen._

_When he opened his eyes the next time, he only had a faint recollection of what happened. He knew he was in hospital and that they had the "good stuff" coursing through his veins because the only thing he could feel was his own erratic breathing and his heart pulsing far too quickly. Fever. He had a fever. Damn. He tried not to panic._

_He searched the room for anyone at all. His eyes landed on a familiar, six year old form. "William," he mumbled._

_William stood on the right side of the bed, next to the pumps and drips and monitors. His eyes were wide and dark with concern. "You can't die."_

_"I don't want to."_

_"Then don't." William's voice was as tiny and uncertain as John had ever heard him. He spotted the little blue seashell on the table. "You had my shell with you."_

_"My good luck." John’s eyes were drooping shut. God, what was that alarm. Someone needed to do something..._

_"You promised to give it back. You promised, John." William took a step nearer. There was panic in his eyes, but he remained insistent. "Promise me. Promise you'll give it back. I need you..."_

_"Promise. William..." John couldn't breathe... And that damn alarm was screaming... And suddenly there was too much light, and too many people, and William was... Where was he... "William..."_

_The next time he woke up, he had no idea where he was, or how long he'd been there._

_"You bastard. Tried to die on me twice. If you ever fucking do that again, I'll kill you myself."_

_"Murray." He rasped. Then there was an ice chip at his mouth._

_"What, getting shot wasn't good enough? Had to get an infection. Damn fever got so high, you seized on us. Always knew your brain was dodgy..." Murray's voice went soft. "They're not gonna let you come back, John. Not after the seizures. And there's nerve damage. You really are a bastard, you know? Leaving me here."_

_"Piss off." He mumbled. He still couldn't feel much, but there was a persistent ache radiating out from his shoulder. He groaned._

_"Here." Murray adjusted the settings on his drip. "I got your back, arseface." John huffed a weak laugh. "So, tell me. Who's William?"_

_"How..."_

_"Apparently, when you're delirious with fever and high off your arse, you talk in your sleep. And you were carrying on about someone named William."_

_John sighed. "Later, yeah? I can't..." The higher dose was quickly pulling him under. "Later..."_

 

You're begging me to go  
Then making me stay  
Why do you hurt me so bad  
It would help me to know  
Do I stand in your way  
Or am I the best thing you've had

 

_Bloody hell. He'd been back a couple of months, and had managed to go largely unnoticed. That was just fine. He'd run into a handful of people he'd known, once upon a time, but he'd hunched his shoulders and diverted his eyes, and they hadn't even noticed him._

_Until now. Damn Stamford. John had spotted him and considered changing course, but opted for his standard evasion techniques. They'd never failed him before... But now he was having coffee with Mike, when he'd rather be anywhere else in the world. Mike was a good sort, one of the best, actually. He was compassionate and genuinely kind. And John was running out of patience with it._

_"Well, you’re the second person to say that to me today." Mike smiled knowingly and sipped his coffee._

_Shit. The friendly bastard was playing flatshare matchmaker. John sighed. It was tempting. It was also tempting to beg off, walk away, never look back, waste away at his bedsit until his pension ran out, and then... Then what? He supposed he still had the Sig. Fine. Fuck. Fine. He decided to take the bait. "Who was the first?"_

_When they'd walked into Bart's John was struck by how very different, yet how very much the same the old place was. He'd tried to pull information from Mike about who they were meeting, but Mike just smiled and walked on._

_John had not initially been impressed. Not with the changes to the lab, and not with the posh bloke putting on airs while using the microscope. There was something though... He wasn't sure what made him do it, because he was just fine being ignored, but John reached into his pocket and pulled out his mobile._

_"Here, use mine."_

_And then he was met with eyes that looked like the sea during a storm, and an expression of pure curiosity. A spark of interest that had not been directed at him by anyone in ages. He was being scrutinized. It might as well have been him under that microscope._

_When he handed over the mobile with his left hand, the contact felt alive. Not like electricity, not exactly. But like contact that his muscles, his skin, all the way down to his nerves (he even felt it in nerves where he hadn't had feeling for months), remembered. Sherlock took the phone and turned away from him, but he still felt the residue of the contact on his fingers. What was this? He wanted to glare at Mike. He wanted to run. He wanted Sherlock to look at him again._

_Damn it._

 

Believe me  
Believe me  
I can't tell you why  
But I'm trapped by your love  
And I'm chained to your side

 

_"All right? Are you all right?"_

_He was not. John was really not all right. He had no recollection of what happened between being jumped in the street and waking up at the aquatic center strapped into a bomb with Moriarty in his ear._

_He was not all right because Sherlock, that bastard, had played right into Moriarty's plan. He'd fucking set up an one-on-one with a bloody psychopath, and expected what, exactly? No. That was not okay._

_But mostly he was not okay because that same bastard was frantically trying to get him out of the bomb vest because there was no way his frayed nerves would allow him to do it himself. And Sherlock was... God he... The panic in his eyes, the way his brow creased just so -- John had never seen that crease before. It reminded John of something, or someone, he couldn't quite place... And he was close. So close. It was almost intimate, almost an embrace. And John's muscle memory was doing the thing where it seemed to recall previous embraces where there hadn't been -- John was a smart man, but it wasn't time for his heart to recall. So he didn't, and it was frustrating as hell._

_So he lied. "I'm fine." And he deflected. "Are you all right?" And he made a joke. "I'm glad nobody saw that." Because he wasn't okay. He wasn't. How was he suppose to be okay? There was no fucking way he was going to talk to his therapist about this. And Sherlock wouldn't be inclined to talk about it._

_So he pulled on his brave soldier facade and locked everything away. He reached into his pocket to feel the familiar shape of the now worn smooth seashell. Bloody hell._

_"Sorry boys!"_

 

We are young  
Heartache to heartache we stand  
No promises  
No demands  
Love is a battlefield

 

_He left him. Fucking... god damn it. John had called him a machine like the arsehole he was, and left him there. He knew better. He knew better than to let Sherlock wind him up. He knew not to fall for the diversionary tactics and the shite he always pulled. He knew... in his heart, he knew... this was not going to end well._

_John pushed himself up off the ground and stumbled before finding his equilibrium. He ran harder than he'd ever run and pushed his way through the gathering crowd._

_It wasn't the blood that finished him. It wasn't the unnatural way Sherlock's body lay, or the empty lifeless eyes. It wasn't even the absence of a pulse. It was the realization that this was his friend. Sherlock was his friend, his best friend. And even though the truth of their friendship had still not been revealed, his heart mourned as if the second half of his soul had been ripped away._

_People were talking at him, trying to pull him away. They were moving Sherlock's body. Oh god... his body. John felt as if he were trapped in that sandstorm once more. The cacophony of his own thoughts, the fact that he had failed, and the magnitude of what had been lost, roared in his ears, deafening him to all else. All he could see was blinding red darkness. And the awful feeling of sad-scared-lonely-angry nearly stole his very breath away._

_It was too much. He broke there on the sidewalk, under the weight of this loss, the full truth of which he wouldn't come to understand for years. Someone tried to get him to go home, but they wouldn't understand that his home was in a body bag in the morgue. He wasn't sure he even fully understood._

 

We are strong  
No one can tell us we're wrong  
Searching our hearts for so long  
Both of us knowing  
Love is a battlefield

 

_John had two recurring dream while Sherlock was dead._

_The first was Sherlock jumping. Over and over and over. It played out the same every single time, exactly as it happened on that day. From the phone call to John collapsing beside Sherlock's body. The only difference was that Sherlock wasn't dead yet. When John would fall to his knees, Sherlock would turn those haunting hollow eyes on him and remind him that he was a failure. Then Sherlock would die, and the dream would progress until John could wake up._

_John missed the frequency of his wartime nightmares when he would have that one._

_The second dream was different. He knew when he was in it that it was a dream. And he recognized that it was the same dream each time. But when he woke, he could never fully recall all the details. The only thing he remembered with an assurance was a small boy with riotous curls telling him not to worry and that they would find each other._

_It was not a nightmare, but it left him unsettled for hours after he woke every single time._

 

When I'm losing control  
Will you turn me away  
Or touch me deep inside  
And when all this gets old  
Will it still feel the same  
There's no way this will die  
But if we get much closer  
I could lose control  
And if your heart surrenders  
You'll need me to hold

 

_It wasn't Sherlock that John had wanted to punch when Mycroft had reluctantly summoned him to tend to his battered and broken brother. It was Mycroft he wanted to punch._

_If Sherlock survived jumping off a building, or at the least, faking it somehow, and then had to go save the world from Moriarty's network by putting himself in harm's way, well... John wasn't happy about it. Of course he wasn't. He didn't like that Sherlock felt he'd had to do it alone. But he wasn't shocked by it. It was absolutely what he would have expected from Sherlock. He was hurt, yes. And he was more than concerned about the injuries he was treating, and the older healed over scars. But bloody hell. Sherlock had come back to life. To him. 221b felt like home again for the first time in two years._

_So he did the only thing he knew to do, he took care of Sherlock just like he always had. Gently, with great care at first. Then with stern fondness as the wounds began healing, and the man inside the transport began to wake from his haze. And then with exasperation and an iron fist when what was needed most was time, but Sherlock, scarred and changed though he was, was ready to be Sherlock Holmes again._

_In some ways, what they were rebuilding was very familiar, as if Sherlock had never gone and John had never had half his heart extracted. They still bickered and bantered. They still knew which buttons to push, and they could draw the very best out of each other. But some things they were building were new and better. There was more trust. More consideration. More carefulness. More openness._

_It was these new and better things that prepared their hearts. And that frigid March evening when Sherlock told John the tale of a little blond boy who saved his life, John had almost come unhinged. Thirty-six years they'd been searching. Nine years he'd been an arm's length away. He'd wanted to cry and laugh and, hell, he'd very nearly kissed Sherlock -- William, god damn it, it was so fucking obvious. But he waited. He waited for Sherlock to tell his story. Asked questions to see what Sherlock remembered and what he'd deleted. And there was nothing left but to show Sherlock the scar on his foot and let the realization come. And when it did, it was beautiful. It was perfect. And suddenly they fit together better than they had ever thought possible._

 

We are young  
Heartache to heartache we stand  
No promises  
No demands  
Love is a battlefield

 

"If there is beauty in this world, it is you, my dear. It is not in the solutions to the puzzles and problems we solve together. It is not in the words of praise you too generously write of my abilities. It is not in your soldier's bravery or your healer's compassion. It is, though I am loath to admit it, not even in the way you endeavor to love me with abandon." Holmes laid his hand on Watson's chest, above his heart. "It is you alone. You are all that is beautiful in this world. In my world. And it is only in the light and influence of your splendor that my own life has any value. And that life, my life, my heart, is yours. It has belonged to you for so long, I've forgotten what it was to be alone, to be my own man. And I vow to you, I am yours until the universe sees fit to part us."

Watson's face flushed pink, and his eyes glistened. He looked up into the face of his friend, his campanion, his partner, his lover. Holmes spoke of beauty, yet he had no way to see the ephemeral vision that Watson could see. The perfectly sculpted hair was becoming tousled the longer they stood in the spring breeze. They'd found a quite, secluded spot, where no one would see, in amidst the blossoming trees of a fruit grove, along the property line of a client they'd just left. The blossoms were floating gently in the breeze all around them, Holmes had petals in his hair.

They'd planned to exchange vows, though no church, no minister, and no law abiding registry would abide them. It mattered little. And so they'd picked a significant date, and the anticipation had been building, as was evident in everything they did... But the case they'd taken had been hard. Gruesome. Too many close calls. They'd both been in peril, and the risk had been too great. They could think of nothing more than making their declarations as they bid their unsatisfied client farewell with a promise to send Scotland Yard's finest.

So there they stood, alone before god, pledging their hearts and lives to one another. The grime and filth from the case caked on their shoes and their trousers, Holmes sporting a spectacular black eye -- though it only added to his appeal as far as Watson was concerned -- and the good doctor needing to lean a little too heavily on his walking stick -- much to the dismay of Holmes.

"How dare you wax poetic, and use up all the good words?" Watson chuckled as he rapped bruised and slightly bloodied knuckles against Holmes' chest.

Holmes slid his hand up and gingerly wrapped it around the back of Watson's neck. "My dear, if anyone is worthy of them it is you."

"Damn you, Holmes." Watson smiled even as tears fell from his eyes. "I am in awe of you Holmes, my perfect man." Holmes shook his head but Watson shushed him. "You took something that was dying," he placed his hand over his own heart, "and brought it back to life. You saw what was invisible to the rest of the world, and gave it purpose. You polished and made shine that which was broken. And you have asked nothing in return, only offered more and more of that great heart. If you were another sort of man, I would be in your debt, but you have instead allowed us to become equals, so that I may give freely of myself. And it is my heart, the life and very soul of me I give you. Now, and for always."

The words had scarcely left Watson's mouth, and Holmes stepped forward and pulled his doctor to him in a kiss that began as something gentle and sweet, but soon made known his desperate need. They were panting for breath when Holmes whispered, "husband," against Watson's ear and he found himself glad for the support of the walking stick as the thrill that went down his spine nearly caused him to go weak in the knees. Holmes wrapped his arms around him and kissed him soundly once more. "Shall we retire to Baker Street for the evening, my love?"

With a wicked grin -- it was after all only half noon -- Watson offered Holmes his arm. "My husband truly is a genius."

 

Mrs. Hudson knocked on the door. "Got the post dear, you two have a package. From Greece it looks like."

John hit save -- the story was almost done. If only his own vows would come so easily. He closed his laptop and accepted the manilla envelope. He couldn't help but grin at the childish scrawl and little drawings of kittens, and a dog he recognized as Kya, and two smiling boys on the back of the envelope. "It's from Alex and Niko. Ah, god Mrs. Hudson. I should wait for Sherlock, but I..."

Mrs. Hudson took the envelope from him, peeled one end open and pulled out the contents. "Oops. I opened it by mistake." She winked and handed everything back to him.

"You sneaky..." John chuckled and sifted through the contents there were several letters, and he set those aside so they could read them together. There was a cd with a note explaining that they now owned the first recorded version of the song Timótheos and Pétros sang at the party, along with a few others they had worked on since. Another cd was a recording of Alex's playing. He set those aside as well.

And there was a thick stack of pictures from the party. It was the one thing John regretted from their trip. They'd not taken any pictures. He sifted through them slowly, each one filling him with more and more joy. His three favorites he set aside. There was one of Sherlock laughing at something one of the village children whispered in his ear, while two others were crawling all over him. John was holding a little boy, but he was watching Sherlock and grinning like a fool. The second was of them dancing, oblivious to the world. And the third was of them huddled together after they'd learned Sherlock's parents had left him the cottage. He'd never known either of them to look so at peace and so very happy.

He stared at the pictures of them together, of what they had grown into, and saw what they could be. "Oh god," he sobbed and looked up at Mrs. Hudson with a look she could only describe as smitten. "I need to..." He was frantically digging out one of his journals and the pen Sherlock gave him.

"I'll leave you to it, dear."

 

We are strong  
No one can tell us we're wrong  
Searching our hearts for so long  
Both of us knowing  
Love is a battlefield

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Love is a Battlefield" by Pat Benatar


	14. Will You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have loved you for several hours now...”  
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Andy Gilchrist leaned back in his overstuffed chair, the one piece of furniture he had brought with him when he moved into Sally's flat, the other bits had been picked up along the way and were disposable, temporary, like most of his life had been up til the moment he met the woman he was watching as she slept. 

Sherlock would probably consider his observance of her as 'a bit not good,' but as he had spent most of their relationship up to this point mostly at her bedside, Andy saw it as simply part of his courtship of her. He thought back to the days after Baskerville, when he was separated from her when he and John were forced into quarantine. He'd had a day to think, to try to examine his feelings for Sally Donovan. He remembered a conversation he'd had with John, he normally wasn't one for confidences, but the last few days hadn't been anywhere close to his idea of normal.

"How did you know?"

"Hmmm?" John looked up from the novel he wasn't reading and Andy felt immediately cross-examined. He knew of Sherlock's brilliance, but John's intelligent eyes saw everything.

"If you don't mind the intrusion, how did you know you were in love?"

"That's a long story, but the short answer is, my heart has belonged to him since I've known him, even before then if you believe in that kind of thing. I can't think of a time when I didn't love him." Without missing a beat, John murmured, "You and Donovan."

"Yeah...we kind of clicked from the moment we saw each other, I've only known her a few days, but I, I've never felt like this before, ill and jittery and kind of peaceful and it's driving me absolutely crazy that I can't be with her right now. I don't know what I'll do if -"

"She's tough, Al, and I only saw the two of you together for a few minutes, but she seemed different...she saved my life tonight and I have the feeling she did it because she has some new understanding about Sherlock and me? How did you get here when you did? Don't tell me, Mycroft was involved somehow?"

"We were an extra set of eyes and ears, Mycroft knew there was a mole even before you watched those files disappear, Donovan was pulled in to help keep you and Sherlock safe, and I was on a 'break' so I was 'volunteered' to keep her out of trouble, I couldn't even do that right."

"Al, I've known Donovan a long time, and she has a mind of her own, I saw how she treated you, like a partner, she's never had that before. I don't think she's ever trusted anyone as much as she obviously trusts you."

"You could tell that in those few minutes?" Al looked away before John could read him and know.

"Oh yeah, Sherlock's not the only one who can read people."

"No, I got that. You two are amazing, you should have seen Donovan when Sherlock - shit, sorry, I'm arse at keeping my trap shut."

"Tell me, anyway - please?"

"She was about to run over to the installation and rip him a new one for pulling away from you. I had to stand between her and the door - she was hot, cursing a blue streak."

"Yeah, I've seen and heard that before." John muttered, but Al saw him smile for the first time in a couple of days.

"But it was almost like it broke something in her, not in bad way, but she saw you both in pain and she felt it, as if she hadn't felt anything like that before. I could feel it radiate it from her and I barely knew her. And now...now I, I feel like I could lose the most important person in my life..."

"Breathe, breathe for her, Al. You should try to get some rest, once we get out of here, I have the feeling you won't be sleeping for a while."

 

Of course, John was right. Once they were finally released from quarantine, Mycroft led him to Sally's room. 

"It looks worse than it is, they say she should make a full recovery, she just needs to rest. I took the liberty of getting you a new set of clothes, as the ones you were wearing -"

"Right."

"I haven't been able to thank Sergeant Donovan properly yet, but your actions in the last few days have saved many lives, especially those of my brother and Dr. Watson. You will have your choice of assignments of course, but I was thinking your natural talents might be better suited for police work? If you like I could speak to DI Lestrade..."

Al's eyes popped, or would have if he hadn't been completely knackered. "Yes, sir, I'd appreciate it very much if you wouldn't mind?"

"Not at all. I'll give you some privacy."

"Thank you, sir." Al mumbled then finally made himself walk into Donovan's room. If he hadn't known her prognosis was positive he probably would have fallen apart. She seemed so small, so fragile, and too quiet; not the frankly bad arse woman he had known for such a short time, yet had bulldozed straight into his heart.

He sat down and studied her, dark curls framed her oval face, her nose, god, was he seriously going to rhapsodize over her nose? He was so gone. But it was true, without the fierceness of the glare she usually carried in her dark amber eyes, her nose was adorable, a bit upturned...damn he wanted to kiss her. He picked up her hand and held it between his two much larger ones and was almost asleep when he heard someone enter the room. He froze then relaxed as he heard Lestrade's voice.

"You two worked a treat, Al, is it?"

"Actually my name is Andy, Andy Gilchrist, Sir."

"Mycroft Holmes spoke to me, told me everything, and suggested you would consider a change of profession?"

"If it would mean a possibility of working with Donovan again, yes. Yes, Sir."

"I'll see what I can do about that. A bit unusual, but, from what I understand you two worked very well together."

"Yes, yes we did. Sir. We do."

"She's tough, Andy, she'll pull through this, especially since she has a reason - sorry, I just want her to be happy, she's a good cop, just needs someone that cares about her, and I think you do, if I'm not mistaken."

"You're not mistaken, I know it's only been a few days, but yeah, I care for her very much."

"Good. I'll leave you two some privacy."

Andy turned and nodded his thanks as Lestrade closed the door behind him.

"I don't know if you can hear me, I kind of think you can, just a sense I have of you. I want you to know how much I miss you, which is ridiculous, I know, but for the first time in my life, I actually miss someone, and I've known you just a couple of days. You've broken me in places I didn't think could break, Sally Donovan."

 

"I heard you, you know."

"Hmmmm?"

"Those three days, when you barely left my side. I heard every word."

Andy looked up at Sally, she was wearing an old t shirt and boxers, and yet she took his breath away.

"I meant every word, Donovan, every word."

"Come to bed, love, and show me." She helped from his chair and kissed him softly, then removed his robe and led him to bed.

"I was afraid..." Donovan whispered as he lifted the shirt carefully over her head. "...when I woke up in hospital, that you'd be gone, that you were a figment of my slightly overactive imagination, but when I opened my eyes, there you were, exhausted, but wide awake, and you were singing to me. No one had ever sung to me before."

 

"...Is this a lasting treasure  
Or just a moment's pleasure  
Can I believe the magic in your sighs  
And will you still love me tomorrow

Tonight with words unspoken  
You say that I'm the only one  
But will my heart be broken  
When the night meets the morning sun..."

He stopped when he felt her squeeze his hand. He thought it was lack of sleep and he was imagining things, but then he saw her blink and try to speak. He shook his head and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Shhhh...don't try to speak yet, they have you tubed still. I'm going to buzz the nurse to let her know you're awake, okay?" She managed a slight nod. The nurse on the early shift came in and Al continued to hold her hand and sing to her as the nurse extubated her, he sung and spoke softly to her through it all.

"...I'd like to know if your love  
Is a love I can be sure of  
So tell me now and I won't ask again  
Will you still love me tomorrow?"*

 

"Do you know, now, Sally? Do you know that I'm here for as long as you want me?" He kissed her nose and she giggled. She covered her mouth in surprise. "Do you know how long I've wanted to know what it sounds like when you giggle?"

She shook her head unable to speak.

"Since the first moment I saw you. I was afraid too, I didn't know if it was just the rush of the case, or if you felt the same as I did. I don't trust easily, and I'm used to being on my own, and I don't have a lot of experience with this kind of stuff, but I know -"

"Shut up. Just kiss me, and know you don't have to wonder anymore."

 

"Give me a kiss to build a dream on  
And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss  
Sweetheart, I ask no more than this  
A kiss to build a dream on..." **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *'Will You Love Me Tomorrow?' Lyrics by Gerry Goffin and Carole King
> 
> **'A Kiss to Build a Dream On' Lyrics by Bert Kalmar, Harry Ruby and Oscar Hammerstein II


	15. Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Actually, of course, it didn't explain anything, but whenever doctors are confused about something, which is really more frequently than any of us would do well to think about, they always snatch at something in the vicinity of the case and add, 'That explains it.'” -- William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

John was lost. But not really. Sherlock could see him. He could hear him. He knew exactly where John was. The problem was, John didn't know where John was -- at least from Sherlock's vantage point. And he was panicking and calling out for Sherlock, and in turn, Sherlock was trying not to convey panic in his response.

"John. John, I'm here." 

"Sherlock! No! Oh, god... not again. Sherlock!" John didn't seem to hear Sherlock at all, but every time he spoke, John would grow increasingly agitated.

"Again? What..." Slowly Sherlock realized what was happening as he took in the muted, distorted scene as it flickered and wavered like the picture on an old television set. They were dreaming, both of them, but something was wrong. The connection that neither one could really explain was broken... John didn't know he was there. It had to be a malfunction. Sherlock willed himself to wake up. Transient though they were, the images kept coming -- John standing below him begging him not to... "Damn it. John? John wake up!" 

Something wet touched his face and Sherlock startled awake. He blinked to get his bearings. His head was on John's shoulder, his arm thrown across John's chest. Bluebell had migrated from her spot at the end of the bed and was laying along John's other side, staring back at Sherlock, ready to nuzzle him awake again if needed. John was still asleep, and struggling against them. Bluebell whimpered and inched even closer. "Good girl." Pushing himself up, Sherlock attempted to gently nudge John awake. He tried shaking him and calling his name. 

Sherlock knew the exact moment the Sherlock in John's dream did the unthinkable. Something seemed to break, and John was suddenly combative, crying out as tears somehow managed to still fall from his tightly shut eyes. Sitting up on his knees, Sherlock pulled John up so he was leaning against his chest, even as he struggled. "Καρδιά μου. Ξύπνα. Παρακαλώ Γιάννης.**"

The fight seemed to leave John as quickly as it started. "Καρδιά μου?" He managed a whisper as he wrapped a trembling hand around Sherlock's wrist.

"Breathe, love." Sherlock turned his wrist so John could more easily find his pulse.

"Sorry..."

"Don't. Please?" Sherlock pulled John nearer. "I feel like I should apologize to you... I saw part of that, and I..."

John shook his head and turned so he could wrap his arms around Sherlock. "Just a nightmare. I never meant for you to know about that one..."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was just you, on that day... and me failing you. The same one I had so many times while you were gone, but I haven't had since you came back. Except this time was different. Same situation, but we were... what we are now. And I- I couldn't..." John buried his face in Sherlock's shirt. "Damn it."

"Shhh. Here..." They maneuvered around until Sherlock was leaning against the headboard and John leaning against him, his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "John, you're burning up."

"I just had a nightmare," he mumbled.

Sherlock brushed the hair back from John's brow and brushed his lips lightly across his forehead. "You've got a fever. Low grade, but..."

"I'm a doctor, Sherlock. I think I would know if I had a fever."

"You may be a doctor, but you're the worst patient in the world."

"I won't deny that." John chuckled, which turned into a cough. He huffed and tried to move, only to have Sherlock wrap his arms more tightly around him. "Sherlock, c'mon... Let me up."

"Why? You're ill. You need to..."

"Oh no. No." John shook his head. "We've got things to do today. The fitting. Pick up the rings. I've got to..."

"It can wait."

"It can't. And you have to..."

"All of it can wait a day. None of it matters if you're on your death bed." Sherlock began to maneuver out from behind John.

"I'm not on my death bed, git. It's just a little cold..."

"Ha! You admit it! You're not feeling well."

"Don't be an arse," John coughed. "I'm fine. I had a nightmare. And it's like a sauna in here."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "It's not too warm in here, it's too chilly if anything."

John stared at him suspiciously for a moment, his eyes only looking a little glassy. He huffed. "I'm not sick."

"Right." Sherlock stood from the bed.

"What are you doing?" Throwing the blankets back, John attempted to get out of bed too. Sherlock pushed him back.

"Stay. Please. Just... rest. It's still early. You don't have to meet Greg for the fitting until later this morning. Let's just lie in for a bit. I'll make tea and get you some paracetamol."

"I don't have a fever."

"Thermometer's in the drawer."

"Don't need it." John huffed. "And I'm going to the fitting."

Sherlock sighed and turned to the door. "We'll see."

"Sherlock, if you drug my tea, I swear to god, not even your brother will find your body."

"Noted," Sherlock chuckled. "Now rest. I'll be right back."

"Fine," with a yawn and a cough John rearranged the pillows. "But just because I'm so exhausted, not because I'm sick."

"Of course." Sherlock shook his head. "You're exasperating, do you know that?"

"You're one to talk..." Shaking out the blankets, John leaned back against the pillows and Bluebell stretched across his legs.

"Smart girl. Keeping her stubborn master in his place." Ducking the pillow John tossed, Sherlock went to make tea.

 

_I know it's early. I need a favor. SH_

_We were just going for a run. GL_

_I don't believe you. Please do not elaborate. My apologies for interrupting... whatever I'm interrupting. SH_

_Sherlock what do you need? GL_

_John's ill. SH_

_Is it bad? GL_

_Just a minor cold, but he's insisting he go to the fitting rather than rest. SH_

_To be fair, I've seen you chase a suspect with worse. A suit fitting with a cold is not a big deal. GL_

_If it progresses, the symptoms could be at their worst by Saturday. SH_

_John is a doctor, you know. A good one too. GL_

_A retired doctor who is in denial of the fact that he has a fever right now. SH_

_Fine. What can I do? GL_

_Just hurry it along. Get him in and out, and back home. SH_

_Wait. You're not coming? I don't know what I'm doing. GL_

_I've just sent Molly a text asking her to accompany you. I trust her judgment. And she won't let you two idiots change anything. SH_

_You want Molly, who I love but, whose style is basically the female version of John's, to help John make fashion decisions? GL_

_No. The decisions are made. I want her to keep John from trying to change anything. SH_

_And I'm telling her you said that. SH_

_Arse. Fine. We'll make sure he gets home quickly. I still can't believe you're not coming. GL_

_I have to get a few things done, so I can convince John to stay in after the fitting. SH_

_Understood. GL_

_Have a nice run. SH_

_Piss off. GL_

 

Sherlock carried a tea tray into their bedroom, and stopped short at the sight. John had kicked all but the sheet off and seemed to be asleep, curled on his side. Bluebell was laying on top of his feet. "Good girl."

"Not fair, you two teaming up on me..." Stretching, John sat up. Sherlock counted it a victory when John accepted the paracetamol and water glass.

"You need to drink as much as you can."

"Too tired." John winced as he swallowed. He glanced at Sherlock. "I'm not sick. Just tired."

"Mhmm." Taking the nearly empty glass back, Sherlock set it on the tray, and they resumed their previous positions. "Sleep now, John. Please rest."

 

* * *

 

*Sometimes you picture me  
I'm walking too far ahead  
You're calling to me, I can't hear  
What you've said  
Then you say go slow  
I fall behind  
The second hand unwinds  
If you're lost you can look and you will find me  
Time after time  
If you fall I will catch you I'll be waiting  
Time after time

 

Molly's alarm went off, she stretched awake, and rolled to find an empty bed. The scent of coffee and breakfast filled the air. Checking her phone, Molly frowned at the missed texts from Sherlock.

"I dress like John, do I?" Wrapping her arms around Greg's waist from behind, Molly giggled and then pinched his side.

"John’s a bad arse, you're a bad arse. You can dress how you want. You both just wear a lot of jumpers..."

"Hmm. Nice try, but a miss."

"I'll make it up to you?"

"Yes you will." She kissed his shoulder, and stepped away to pour herself some coffee. "So John's sick. I bet it's driving Sherlock around the bend."

"I'm sure. Only a few days to the ceremony. And I know for a fact John's a terrible patient. I think most doctors are."

"As are detective inspectors, or so I've heard." Molly winked at him.

"Touché."

 

* * *

 

"Damn, John." Greg whistled. "Half dead, you still look like you were born to wear that suit."

"I'm not si-" he coughed. "Sorry, Lawrence. I didn't mess you up?"

"No, no problems, Doctor Watson." The elderly tailor leaned back and examined his work with only the slightest smile. "Master Sherlock does have an eye for these things."

Greg couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, he's got an eye for something... I mean turn around again. Check out his assets, Molly. I don't even mind..."

"I mind that you are enjoying this so much," Molly elbowed him. "Stop being an arse and go hang that suit up before you wrinkle it. I give Lawrence my permission to cause you bodily harm if you do anything to it."

"You just want to watch me walk away in these trousers is all." Greg did a little turn and demonstrated his best catwalk strut. Molly shooed him with a quick swat to his backside.

"Glad someone is having fun." John’s smile was weak and he pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. "God, I have a headache."

Molly and Lawrence shared a concerned look and a nod. "All done now, Doctor Watson. You and Master Sherlock make a stunning pair." John blushed, though it was hard to tell for the flush already on his cheeks.

"One quick snap, just to make sure Sherlock approves, yeah?" Molly pulled out her mobile, took the shot, and hit send. "Will you let one of us help you change?"

John looked down at all the buttons and grumbled. "Fine." Lawrence led him to the back, and Molly could hear Greg cat calling.

 

_Molly. SH_

_I know, love. MH_

_But he doesn't look well. SH_

_He's got a headache. I think his fever is back, not too high. MH_

_Please get him back to Baker Street. I'll be there soon too. SH_

_He's changing now. MH_

_Thank you, Molly. SH_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Time After Time" by Cyndi Lauper
> 
>  **Καρδιά μου. Ξύπνα. Παρακαλώ Γιάννης. - My heart. Wake up. Please John.   
>  


	16. Belonging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Woman,” Westley roared, “you are the property of the Dread Pirate Roberts and you…do…what…you’re…told!”   
> \- William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Sherlock was pacing, thinking through the last few items on his list for the wedding. He had picked up the rings, check. Checked on the menu, again, check. He paused and looked out the window again, they should be back by now. He'd even gone to the store for John, and was reminded why he usually left the shops to John. He had wanted to run in and out, just orange juice, and that fizzy water that John always wanted when he was under the weather, and tissues...so many choices, he bought six different types, only one with aloe...he had thought it would be easier to use the Chip and Pin machine, but, no. If it hadn't been for John, he would have left it, but after two miserable hours, he managed to escape without growling at anyone...much. Angelo had sent over a huge container of Italian Wedding Soup, John loved the tiny meatballs and Angelo swore it could cure anything from hangnails to cancer. He put the soup into a pot and had it warmed up by the time he finally heard voices on the steps.

"I'm fine, Greg!"

"You fell asleep in the cab, John, and you are definitely not fine. Sherlock would kill me if you fell down the stairs three days before he got to marry you. He hasn't even seen you in your suit yet, c'mon, Mate - lean on me."

"Damn - all right - he's gonna kill me."

"No, he won't, he'll just growl a bit and make you rest, try to anyway, just a couple more steps - here we are - "

Sherlock was at the door in a flash, as Greg entered, all but carrying John with him. 

"I know, I know, you were right, I should've stayed -"

Sherlock caught him before he fell to the floor. 

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, he wouldn't leave until he was finished -"

"I know, you know how he is, hmm... a bit stubborn, thank you for getting him home in one piece more or less. He's been under a lot of stress lately, with the cases and the wedding, he just needs to rest..." 

"Text me if you need anything, yeah?" Lestrade looked down at his phone, and muttered, "I have to go, work calls..." He shook his head as he went back down the stairs.

Sherlock nodded, then grunted a bit as he cradled John in his arms and kissed his hot, damp forehead, sighed deeply then carried him into their bedroom. He laid him on the bed, removed John's shoes and socks, then deftly removed his trousers, and lightweight jumper. "Idiot."

"Sorry." John whimpered. "I feel awful."

"I know. I'll be right back." Sherlock pressed a kiss onto his forehead, then undressed down to his t shirt and pants, and went into the loo to make John a cool, damp flannel. He returned to their room and heard John mumble, already lost again in a nightmare. For a moment he was transported back to the days right after he had returned.

 

"John? John, where -?"

"Shh, I'm here, I'm right here next to you - can you feel my hand?"

"Uhmmmhmm, I'm sorry, John - I - I'm so sorry..." and then he'd pass out again, back into nothingness, which was somehow almost worse than the nightmares.

 

"Sherlock? Where are you?"

He blinked and returned to the present, his hand clenched tightly around the flannel, and he saw John reach out for him. "I'm here, John, I'm coming."

"I'm so cold."

"John, you have a very high fever, I'm going to place this on your forehead, then get you some paracetamol and juice, and then you are going to rest."

"I'm sor -"

"No, stop. I prom - I'll be back in a moment." Sherlock went into the kitchen and returned with a tumbler of juice and two tablets. "Sit up, love, I need you to sit up." Sherlock slid next to John and helped him to take the medicine and a few sips of juice. 

"Stay?"

"I'm not going anywhere, John."

John nodded and rolled tightly into himself, and Sherlock curled around him. "I'm right here, kαρδιά μου."

"Will you - ?"

"Anything, John."

"Just hold me, please?"

"Of course, love." Sherlock pressed tighter against John's back and gave him his hand.

John sighed and threaded his clammy fingers through Sherlock's fingers. 

"I love you."

"I know."

"I just wanted to do the fitting for you, I know how important this is to you, all of it, I want you to have it all, I know it might seem like I don't care, I do, I truly do, I - I'm sorry if I'm keeping you from anything import -."

"John - do you remember, when I came back?"

Sherlock could feel John nod as he shivered In Sherlock's arms.

"You stayed right by my side, didn't sleep, ate only when Mrs. Hudson made you take a break, took a month from work, you saved me John, you didn't have to, but you did. I didn't know why, couldn't understand why you didn't hate me, you had every right."

"Ccouldd nevvver hhate you, love." John wrapped both of his hands around Sherlock's.

"I know, then you must know there is nothing more important to me than taking care of you, being with you. We can always postpone if you aren't feeling up to it. No, I mean it. You are my everything John. Please know there is nowhere I'd rather be than by your side." Sherlock began humming something John had used to get him to sleep in his first days back:

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
Take these broken wings and learn to fly  
All your life  
You were only waiting for this moment to arise..."

 

Another nightmare, he knew he was home but he couldn't find John, he kept running down a dark corridor screaming his name. Then he heard a sound, a sweet voice and a cool cloth was laid on his forehead, and familiar fingers wrapped around his wrist.

"Blackbird singing in the dead of night  
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see  
All your life  
You were only waiting for this moment to be free..."*

"You are safe, Sherlock, you are home, with me, it's John, I'm right here."

 

John rolled in his sleep, and sighed against Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock suddenly realised, no, he had always known, that he didn't need the ceremony, the suits, the cake, he didn't even need the vows that John struggled with, to know that the man next to him loved him completely, would do anything, be anything Sherlock asked of him. He held him gently in his arms and silently let John know that he was already enough as he was, he was already all Sherlock would ever need. John seemed to hear him as he whispered against Sherlock, "as are you, kαρδιά μου." He even managed a small smile before he fell into a deep fevered sleep again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Blackbird, written by Paul McCartney


	17. Remedies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I've seen worse." -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

"Coming in a bit early today, aren't you Molly?" Mike stepped up next to her in line at the little coffee shop across from the hospital.

"Usual, Mike?" The barista asked, though she'd already started steeping his tea. With a nod and smile, Mike stepped over and paid for both his order and Molly's.

"Mike Stamford! You paid last time, and you promised you'd let me..."

"My day's almost done, and yours is just starting. I think you need it more than I do." Taking his tea, Mike waited for Molly to gather her sandwich and coffee, and they found their way to the same table in the corner by the window as usual.

"Well, thank you. But next time I'm paying." Molly gave him a pointed look as she unwrapped her sandwich.

Mike smiled and sipped his tea. "Haven't seen Sherlock or John around much. Lot of excitement, I expect."

"Oh, mhmm." Molly nodded and wiped her mouth. "I went with Greg and John for their suit fittings this morning."

"Hard to imagine John in anything other than jumpers." Mike chuckled.

"Just wait, Mike. Sherlock picked it, and it's perf- wait... You and John trained together. Has he always..." Shoving another bite of sandwich in her mouth, Molly wrapped up the other half for later. 

"Always buttoned up, always practical and comfortable."

"Why am I not surprised?" Molly shook her head. "I just hope he's up to it on Saturday."

Mike leveled a serious look in her direction. Molly didn't know if she'd ever seen him without a smile. It seemed unnatural and, well, wrong. 

"Nothing's the matter, Mike. You can breathe now. John's just gotten himself a cold, and his fever got a bit high. He'll be fine." Finishing off her coffee, Molly swiped her crumbs into a napkin and pushed back from the table. "Well, I better get over there. Had a bit of a backlog when I left last night." She patted Mike's shoulder. "Thanks again for lunch. But I'm paying next time, yeah?"

"Fine, fine," he smiled up at her. "Have a good shift, Molly." Mike watched her go, and then pulled out his mobile.

Mike knew well enough that the connection John and Sherlock had from the moment John stepped in the lab that day had very little to do with the serendipitous meeting in the park. He'd seen it then, and had watched it grow and develope, and become this... soul connection is the only way he could describe it.

It wouldn't do for John to be sick and for them to miss their day. They'd waited too long. The universe had waited for too long. Mike chuckled at his own ridiculousness as he sent off the text.

* * *

 

John was still shivering. Even in his sleep, he would groan or whimper. Sherlock pulled him closer and tucked the blankets more firmly around him. It had been long enough that the paracetamol should have been helping, but obviously it wasn't, and it was hours yet before he could take more.

Sherlock blinked back tears. How did people do this? How did they keep themselves composed when someone they cared for was suffering? All Sherlock could do was worry. He needed to get a new compress. Make John drink something... There was a list of things he should...

John's phone pinged a new text. Sherlock glanced at the side table, but didn't see it. It pinged again. John stirred and muttered. Sherlock considered letting it go until it pinged again and John's eye's fluttered open. He mumbled something against Sherlock’s chest.

"Shhh. Love, just go back to sleep." John mumbled again, and Sherlock could make out loo, and he thought something about tea. "All right."

"E-everrrythinng hurrrts."

"I'm so sorry." Sherlock helped John shuffle to the loo and then started the kettle. He brought some pyjama bottoms and a fresh shirt for John to change into, and retrieved John’s mobile from his trouser pocket.

 

_John - spoke to Molly. Says you're a feeling poorly. -MS_

_Music always makes me feel better. Jazz music, specifically. -MS_

_There's proof for it you know. Listening to jazz for 30 minutes boosts our levels of Immunoglobulin A. -MS_

 

Sherlock snorted and called over his shoulder, "Molly told Stamford you're ill. He says you should listen to jazz."

"Don't shout..." John winced against the lights in the kitchen.

"Ah, nope. Back to bed. I'll make the tea."

John looked as if he might fight him for a moment, but just nodded. Sherlock tucked him into a heap of pillows and blankets, adding the orange shock blanket for good measure, then kissed his forehead. "Fever is still too high, John."

"You j-jusss llike kiiissinnng me."

Sherlock hummed in contemplation. "A discussion for another day, I think. For now, you rest. I'll make tea. Anything else?"

"No jjjazz."

"I could play for you..."

"Juss wwwant y-you."

Sherlock nodded and kissed John's forehead again. "Right back."

John’s mobile pinged again and Sherlock rolled his eyes. He brought John’s herbal tea, made with Greek honey, and helped him sit up enough to take a few sips. John nodded and nestled back into bed. Sherlock crawled under the covers and pulled John to him. "Molly texted. Let's see what inane advice she has for you." John tried to chuckle but ended up coughing.

 

_John, you should have Sherlock rub mentholated ointment on your feet. Put on some warm socks. Works for me every time. -MH_

_And you'll get a foot rub out of it. ;-) -MH_

 

John wrinkled his nose. "Agreed," Sherlock nodded.

 

_John hates sleeping with socks, and we both dislike the scent. -SH_

_Also, I thought we agreed no punctuation faces. -SH_

_Sherlock, give John his mobile. -MH_

_I'm here with him. -SH_

_How's the fever? -MH_

_Still too high. -SH_

_Keep me posted. -MH_

 

Sherlock dropped the mobile on the bed and it pinged again. They both groaned.

"Mycroft. How the hell did he know?" Sherlock grumbled.

 

_Lawrence tells me you are unwell. May I recommend a tried and true family remedy? -MH_

_Myc, you've never had a cold. -SH_

_Brother. How is John? -MH_

_His fever is still too high. -SH_

 

Sherlock looked down at John who had finally fallen back asleep with his ear pressed to Sherlock's heart. He ran his fingers through the fever damp hair. John would want it cut before...

 

_We may need to reschedule. -SH_

_Give him a chance to recover. But if you decide you need to, I will take care of everything. You take care of John. -MH_

_Thank you, Myc. -SH_

_Shall I send my doctor over? He's the best there is. -MH_

_No. My doctor is. -SH_

_I know you rolled your eyes. -SH_

_Indeed. The offer stands if needed. -MH_

_Thank you. -SH_

 

John's mobile pinged several times then. "Oh, for godsake."

 

_Found some remedies for you to try, mate. -GL_

_Graham, John is asleep. Please. -SH_

_Well, when he wakes up, have him eat some hot peppers. That'll open everything right up. -GL_

_I'm not doing that to him. -SH_

_Okay. How are his ears? If his ears hurt, you could blow tobacco smoke into them. A win for both of you. They say a few drops of urine works too. -GL_

_What? What the hell is wrong with you? -SH_

_John's ears are fine. Do not text again. SH_

_Just trying to help. -GL_

_Please stop. -SH_

 

_John, sorry, Greg told Andy you're sick. My grandmother used to make hot chocolate with dark chocolate and honey. It's very soothing. -SD_

_Sally, thank you. Finally a useful suggestion. -SH_

_No problem. Get him better. -SD_

_Working on it. -SH_

 

Sherlock checked the time. Another hour before John could take more paracetamol. Sherlock frowned as John continued to shiver against him. Bluebell alternated between laying against John's other side and pacing nervously. "Oh, right." Sherlock dialed Mrs. Hudson.

"John, dear. Is everything all right?"

"Hudders, it me. We're upstairs. John is ill. Would you be able to sit with him so I can walk Bluebell?"

"You stay put. I'll have one of the married ones take her out. Do you boys need anything?"

"No. I went to the shops earlier."

"You... You went?"

Sherlock sighed.

"Sorry dear." Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "I've got some Chinese Artemisia argyi wormwood we can burn to purify the air if you'd like."

"No... no. That's quite all right. Thank you."

"Well if you change your mind..."

"Bluebell's leash is on the coffee table." Sherlock disconnected the call with a sigh. He glared when he saw the next text come in.

 

_Ice bath for fever. -GL_

_This is harassment. -SH_

_Tallow poultice... -GL_

_Do not elaborate. -SH_

 

_Ever had Gogol Mogol? A warm Russian drink made from egg yolk, milk, honey, butter and rum. -VH_

_Vi... I'm not making that. -SH_

_It works. -VH_

 

_Curry. -GL_

_No. -SH_

_Maybe. -SH_

_;-) -GL_

_No. -SH_

 

"How did we end up surrounded by idiots, John?" John shivered against him and mumbled in his sleep. Sherlock sighed and pulled him closer. The mobile pinged again. "Andy," Sherlock groaned.

 

_A mate from uni taught me this one..._

 

Sherlock shook his head and didn't finish reading the message. He calmly powered the mobile off and threw it across the room.

"Sh'lock?" John yawned and then coughed.

"Nothing, love. Go back to sleep."


	18. Girl Talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is he really so wonderful, this Westley of yours?"
> 
> "Not so much wonderful as perfect," she replied. "Kind of flawless. More or less magnificent. Without blemish. Rather on the ideal side.”
> 
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Molly rummaged through her closet, pulling it apart searching for something for the nuptials that were rapidly approaching.

"Too bright..."

"Too dull..."

"Too stripey..."

"Too much..."

"Too, just...what the hell was I thinking when I bought this?" She flung this last item backwards right into Greg's rather surprised face.

"Uhm? Molly? Are you redecorating? There must be an easier way...?"

"I don't have a thing to wear...."

"Why not ask Sally to go, uhm, help you pick something out?"

 

"Damn. Damn. Damn and Blast!"

"Hmmmph?" Andy was rudely awakened from a rather lovely dream by a neatly tailored beige silk dress thrown with quite a bit of force.

"Oh. Geez...sorry. I'm trying to find something to wear for the wedding and I -"

"Don't tell me, you don't have a single thing to wear?"

"Everything I own is beige, or tan or grey or black...not exactly weddingish - "

"Mmmm...have an idea, it's a pre-coffee idea, but, ask Molly to go with you, she seems to have a thing for everything, uhm, unbeige?"

"Is that even a word?"

"Don't think so, but it should be."

"Idiot." She kissed him anyway.

"Your idiot." He kissed her back.

"Don't you forget it." She found that one spot that made him purr and nothing productive was accomplished for the next hour.

"Wedding dress. Unbeige. Molly."

"Right." She kissed him again and searched through the sea of neutrality until she found her phone.

 

I need a dress. Loathe shopping, wanna come with me? - SD

Please, I could use some help to find something not so - MH

Unbeige? - SD

Right. Is that even a word? - MH

Not yet. ;) Pick you up in an hour? - SD

Sounds good. - MH

 

They hit a couple of posh boutiques, but took one look at the prices and their eyes met, then they escaped as quietly as they could, before exploding into laughter as the door closed behind them.

"I know! I'm going to ask Mycroft - if he doesn't know, Vi will."

"Yes! But let's get tea first, I'm starving."

Donovan nodded, then took a deep breath. It had been so long since - come to think of it, she'd never had tea with a girlfriend. She'd never had a girlfriend...breathe, it's Molly. She's different. You can do this...small talk...

 

"So...Andy?" So much for small talk, Molly did tend to be direct. 

"What about him?" Donovan tried not to feel interrogated. Molly was a friend...breathe.

"Nothing, it just seems like he is, well, good for you?"

Donovan looked into her empty tea cup and smiled a bit timidly. "He's a bit perfect, actually. More than a bit, he's amazing. It's odd..."

"What is?" Molly took a bite of cake and chewed happily.

"I'm, uhm, used to being alone, work was all I had and now -"

"You can't remember what it was like without him."

Donovan grinned at her and nodded, "It's like he's always been there, and it's only been a few weeks."

 

Lunch? - GL

Sure. - AG

The diner near headquarters, ten minutes? - GL

I'll be there. - AG

 

As they left the coffeeshop, Vi was waiting for them, leaning against the black sedan. "I seem to be in need of appropriate attire for this weekend's festivities and Myc said you ladies needed assistance? He has foolishly given us carte blanche...and his blessing to, as he said this morning, 'spare no expense.' He doesn't quite know what he's in for, though I suppose we shall have to go easy on him this time. Shall we?" She opened the door, and Molly and Donovan nodded in agreement. 

"Poor Mycroft," muttered Molly.

"Not yet," Violet and Donovan giggled together.

Molly eyes popped and she roared with laughter.

Donovan sighed and relaxed against the seat. Girlfriends might be a good thing after all.

 

Lestrade was waiting when Andy walked into the diner, he grinned and waved him over.

"Everything is decent here, if a bit on the greasy side."

Andy nodded and sat down, a bit wary, but he was a bit peckish and he wanted to get to know Lestrade better.

"I've never seen her happier." Greg took a sip of his coffee.

"Uh-oh, uhm, Sir -"

"Nope, just Greg, no longer Sir. "

"If this is one of those 'if you hurt her, I'll - '"

"No, oh god, no - I can tell you, there won't be enough of you left for me to do anything to if you hurt her, because she is more than capable of dealing with that on her own. No, I figured since Molly and Donovan are out shopping, we could get to know each other a bit better? But you probably know all about me - I must have a file an inch thick?"

"It's more like three, Si- Greg." Andy ordered coffee and a sandwich with chips. "Interesting reading, but those files don't come close to telling me anything about who you are as a person. To be completely honest with you, I was a bit, uhm, nervous to work with Donovan after I read hers, she's a good cop, excellent instincts, but won't play politics, says what she thinks... should've been a DI long before now. But her file doesn't indicate all that, it's full of reprimands, conflicts with co-workers, including several write ups regarding her relationship with a certain Sherlock Holmes." He thanked the waitress for his coffee and added a heap of sugar before taking a sip. He grinned at Greg's smirk. "I got hooked on mochas while she was in hospital - can't stand the taste of coffee without a lorry load of sugar now. Your file is similar to Donovan's - early on, anyway, but then you learned, the hard way, I expect?"

"You'll make a good copper, Andy." Greg looked him over and nodded to himself. "You'll make mistakes, but you will be one of the few who will learn from them. I'm sorry I won't be there - but it's time for a change. Donovan will make a good DI, she'll go through some growing pains, but she'll have you to lean on -"

"She is stronger than that, Sir, - sorry, Greg, if anything, I lean on her - you haven't really spent a lot of time with her recently, she's truly something..."

"Special. Yeah, I was waiting for her to get there, she and Sherlock are very much alike which I think was their biggest problem. I think they both needed someone who could cut through the layers of bs to get to the real person, you managed it in less than a day."

"She is unique, and there was just a spark, or - I think you know what I mean - you and Dr. Hooper..."

"Yeah, I do..." Greg nodded as he tried to hide his smile behind his coffee mug.

"I wonder what they are up to..."

 

Molly looked at herself in a deep russet silk dress that hit a bit above the knee, showing off her legs, it was a deep reddish, orangey-gold that brought her warm eyes to life and made her natural highlights glow.

"Oh, Molly." Donovan and Vi sighed together. 

"Spin around....yes, oh, man, Greg will flip out when he sees you." Donovan accepted another glass of champagne, and reminded herself she didn't start her new job for another week, and it was only her second glass. 

Besides she had already found her dress, an off the shoulder with a three-quarter length sleeve, that hugged her curves in a slightly muted amethyst. With matching sandals. It took only two hours. But, she considered, as long as Molly and Vi were with her, shopping could actually be...fun. She already knew Molly had a brilliant sense of humour and as she had discovered at Baskerville, had quite the vocabulary with a glass of bubbly in her. But Vi was a revelation. Donovan's interactions with Mycroft's PA and now...hmmm...significant other(?) had been few and far between, but her stories of Mycroft and Sherlock, complete with dead on impressions of the brothers, down to their very individual smirks had her and Molly in tears. Not to mention her eye for colour, for someone who lived in unrelieved black pant suits, she was able to select dresses that complimented their skin tones, eye and hair colour as well as their individual shapes. For herself, she found a sleek deep viridian strapless dress that emphasized all of her best features, not to mention the relatively new Celtic knot tattoo that graced her back. Donovan took another sip of the champagne then listened intently to yet another story of the brothers, this time, though she was telling them of the night Mycroft rescued Sherlock from Serbia. Vi had not been told of Sherlock's faked death until they were on their way to extricate him, but had known Mycroft had been keeping something big from her, she understood why, but it took sometime to recover from the deception. 

"He was as close to being dead as you can be, without actually being dead."

"Mostly dead?" Molly suggested, well into her third glass.

"Yeah, just about. Mycroft tried not to show any emotion at all, but it was in his eyes, as if he could feel the pain his brother was in. He held him all the way from Serbia back to Germany, where they put him back together...I've never seen him in so much pain, that wasn't actually his own. It almost killed him to have his brother away so long, and not knowing if he would make it back..."

They all sat quietly, the festive air had gone out of the room until Vi broke the silence. "Naturally, they argued all the way back to London, and weren't on speaking terms when Myc delivered Sherlock to Baker Street."

"Naturally." Molly and Donovan snorted together.

"Alright girls...mission accomplished. We will have to do this more often, I do believe." Vi stood carefully and giggled, then covered her mouth in surprise. "Will you join Myc and me for dinner?"

"We'd love to." Donovan stood and helped Molly to her feet, luckily they were barefoot, not in the new sandals they had been trying on. They swayed a bit then steadied, as they held onto the other. They slid into their old shoes and walked out together arm in arm in arm; their carefully wrapped purchases were already safely stowed in the sedan, and they made their way back to the flat that Mycroft and Violet now shared.

 

Dinner for six, Myc. - VH 

I assumed as much, dinner will be ready shortly. - MH

Dresses, shoes and unmentionables have been purchased.- VH

How many glasses of champagne? - MH

Only two, I know my limits, love. - VH

I hope you had a good time? - MH

They are funny as hell, intelligent and charming to boot, so yes, I had a lovely time. - VH

Good. - MH

 

"That's all they really want  
Some fun  
When the working day is done  
Oh girls, they want to have fun  
Oh girls just want to have fun

Some boys take a beautiful girl  
And hide her away from the rest of the world  
I want to be the one to walk in the sun  
Oh girls they want to have fun  
Oh girls just want to have

That's all they really want  
Some fun..."*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * 'Girls Just Wanna Have Fun' Lyrics by Robert Hazard


	19. Snapshot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You read my mind." 
> 
> "It just seems that way, I told you. It's merely logic and wisdom. To the death?"
> 
> -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

Exhaling deeply, Andy fell in step hesitantly behind Greg. He smoothed the front of his shirt and adjusted his tie. Focusing on his breathing, he ran directly into Greg's back.

"Calm down, kid." Greg laughed. "It's just dinner."

Andy's eyes traveled up the front of the town house and mumbled, "'Just dinner' he says." Greg rolled his eyes and rang the bell.

The door swung open. "Hey boss!" Sally grinned at Greg.

"Not any more, yeah?" Greg chuckled and kissed Sally's cheek. "Boss lady."

"That's right. I am the boss." She laughed. "Just toss your coat in the library." She turned to Andy. "Al!" Sally pulled him in to a kiss.

"Glad to see you too." Andy hugged her and they both giggled. "Are you... are you drunk?"

"Nu-uh. Nope."

"A bit tipsy then?" He winked at her.

"Hmm... no, just kinda... giddy?"

"Giddy?" Andy followed Sally to the library. "Why giddy?"

With a smile that was almost bashful, Sally looked up at him. "I've got friends, Al. Real friends. Plural."

"Oh, love." He pulled her into a tight embrace.

"And the champagne helped." They both giggled again, and Sally tugged on Andy's tie. "Lose this."

"What? But..."

"It's just dinner."

"Dinner with Mycroft Holmes. And Viol-"

Rolling her eyes, Sally stopped his words with her finger over his lips. "They're our friends. This isn't work. He isn't the British government tonight."

"But, you don't understand..." Andy hesitantly removed his tie. "I grew up hearing stories about them. They were my heroes. And now I'm... I'm standing in their library, inside their house, about to eat their food..."

"That Mycroft prepared." Sally added with a smirk.

"Exactly... What? Shit. See?" Andy scrubbed his hand down his face.

"Breathe, love." Laughing, Sally kissed him again. "You're gonna be fine."

With a reluctant nod, Andy glanced around at the library and its subtle classic elegance. "Not exactly what I was expecting," he whispered. "It's kind of..."

"Normal?" With a wink, Sally took his hand. "You were expecting palatial?"

"Hmmm. Or something... lair-like." He shrugged at Sally's bemused look. "Like the Bat-cave."

"There's a hidden panel that controls the sliding bookcases."

With a gasp, Andy turned to see Mycroft standing in the door. "Shit... Sorry. Uhm, what?"

"It's not really a cave, more of a glorified cold cellar. But it serves my purposes." Mycroft smiled innocently.

"What? You're joking, right?" Andy huffed a nervous laugh and looked at Sally. "He's joking right? Mycroft Holmes is teasing me. Right?" He looked back at Mycroft, who simply continued to smile.

Cocking an eyebrow at Andy, Mycroft chuckled. "Dinner is ready." He turned to lead them to the dining room.

"Oh god." Andy groaned. "That was..."

"Hilarious." Sally squeezed Andy's hand. "He must trust you. I had to learn about the lair from Greg." She flashed him a cheeky grin, let go of his hand, and disappeared into the hall.

"Wait. It's real? Sally... I swear to god. Sally..."

 

* * *

 

John's fever had finally leveled out that morning. He was aching and exhausted, but the worst had passed. With the exception of an occasional cough that would wrack his entire body, John seemed to be resting peacefully, curled in a tight ball and pressed against Sherlock. Bluebell was stretched out along his back.

Leaning against the headboard with his eyes closed, Sherlock held John's right hand in both of his, memorizing. Visual memorization was good, but any opportunity he had for tactile retention... His fingers paused over the uneven scar on the side of John's hand, from when he'd cut his hand during the storm in Greece. It wasn't a large scar, but it was new enough that it  had not yet faded white.  Working gingerly, Sherlock followed the lines and creases of John's hand, feeling each and every callous, scar (some Sherlock knew the story behind, some he did not) and imperfection... No, not imperfections. John's hands were strong, well formed, and smaller than his own. Each and every mark and scar told bits and pieces of the story of John's life -- their story, really. Nothing that made John unique could ever be considered an imperfection.

A soft knock at the bedroom door drew Sherlock from his contemplation."Sherlock?"

He blinked in surprise; he hadn't even heard her come up. "In here, Mrs. Hudson. Come in."

Opening the door just a crack, she stuck her head in. "I'm sorry to bother you dear, but..." She glanced behind her, and then looked at John.

"What's the matter?" He was still running his fingers over John's hand, but he sat up and leaned toward her.

"I think you should step out here... Just for a moment."

Sherlock heaved a great sigh, tucked John's hand carefully under the blankets, and carefully scooted out of the bed. John mumbled and stirred, reaching for him in his sleep. "Shhhh, καρδιά μου. I'll just be a moment." He leaned down and kissed John's forehead before following Mrs. Hudson out of the room. He shrugged his robe on over his pyjamas, and left the door open just a crack. He opened his mouth to speak, but Mrs. Hudson held up her hand.

"John has a... visitor." Mrs. Hudson kept her voice low. Sherlock closed his eyes and sighed.

"She couldn't just call? She had to come here and disappoint him in person? Where is she?" He glanced past Mrs. Hudson to the sitting room.

"I told her to wait downstairs. I didn't know..."

"No, no that's good." Sherlock ran his hands through his hair. "Damn it. John will kill me if I send her away."

"You're not going to..." Mrs. Hudson glanced toward the bedroom.

"No. Absolutely not." Sherlock shook his head and dropped into his chair. "Just send her up."

"Do you want me to..."

"No, I don't expect this to take long."

Mrs. Hudson patted his shoulder and made her way downstairs. A moment later he heard a tentative tread on the steps. Careful, but not sloppy. At least she wasn't fall down drunk. Sherlock took a deep, grounding breath, and sat up taller in his chair. Mrs. Hudson had left the flat door open, and Sherlock watched for their visitor to appear on the landing.

"Harriet." He nodded.

Harry rolled her eyes. "Is he here?"

"Yes, John is here, but he is unavailable at the moment. Anything you need to say to him, you can tell me."

"Oh, come off it." Harry stepped in the sitting room and glared at Sherlock. "He's my brother, you don't have to protect him from me. I just need to talk to him... I need to..." She sighed, and rubbed the back of her neck.

Narrowing his eyes at her, Sherlock really took her in. John had told him she'd been doing very well with the program, had actually stuck with it, and he could see the evidence of that before him. Harry actually looked healthy, put together even, and she was clearly sober. Despite the fact that he could see the hard feelings on her expressive face -- definitely a Watson family trait -- he recognized no malice or ill will there. "John is... unwell. He's asleep."

Furrowing her brow, Harry frowned. "Is he okay? What's wrong?"

"Of course he's not oka-" Sherlock sighed. "Just a cold, though he ran a fever most of the day yesterday."

"Shit." Harry sat in John's chair. "But the fever went down? He told me after he got shot... he had that infection...  Uhm, he said fevers could be dangerous for him. He..."

"I am aware." Sherlock had to fight the urge snap at her. Of course he was aware of John's medical history. Of course he knew how detrimental a fever could be. Of course he was doing everything he knew... "He's being well cared for."

Harry nodded. "I know, Sherlock. " She exhaled a slow controlled breath. "Or is it William?" 

Sherlock leaned forward. "Why are you here, Harry?"

She pulled a small bundle from her bag. Something wrapped in plain white tissue, and a yellowing envelope. "I needed to bring these to John."

"The ceremony is on Saturday. You could have just..."

"No! Sorry... no. He needs to see this first." She ducked her head and avoided Sherlock's gaze. "I'm sorry, Sherlock. I didn't know. Not until I saw the invitation. When I saw your name... God. It all made sense. I had forgotten about John's little friend William, and that I found these in a box of mum's things after we buried papa..." She stood and handed the bundle to Sherlock. "Just make sure he gets it before Saturday, yeah?" Sherlock nodded and gasped when he saw the front of the envelope; it was addressed to 'John and William.' Harry started to leave.

"You should come. On Saturday." Sherlock looked up from the bundle to Harry. "It would mean so much to him... to us."

"I've caused him so much hurt. He doesn't need me around to remind him of all that." 

"Harry. Please. You should come. He ordered a corsage for you."

She turned back toward the door and stopped. With her back to Sherlock, Harry sniffed. "He used to talk to you. Well, to William, so... you. Every night before bed, just like some kids say bedtime prayers. He'd lay in his bed and tell you about his day, or what he was learning about in school. When our mum died, the only time I know for sure he cried was one time, I heard him in his room telling you about her." She dug a handkerchief out of her bag. Sherlock wiped his own eyes with the back of his hand.

"Harry..."

She looked over her shoulder with a tremulous smile. "For what it's worth, I'm glad it's you. I'm glad you're him, and that you two finally found each other." She nodded once and disappeared down the steps.

Sherlock stared after her a moment and then down at the package in his hands. His fingers itched to open the envelope. But he couldn't, could he? It was from John's mum, he should wait for John... But it was addressed to them both... He looked up at the sound of shuffling. "John, why are you up?" Sherlock tried to sound  stern, but the fact that he couldn't help but smile at John's sleep mussed hair and clear fever-free eyes ruined the effect. 

"Someone was here." John's voice was a bit raspy from the coughing. He was blinking against the light in the sitting room. He yawned and coughed, and pulled the blanket he was wrapped in more tightly around his shoulders. 

Narrowing his eyes, Sherlock studied John for a moment. "Are you wearing any pants?"

Still a bit foggy, John frowned in confusion. "What? Yea- Oi!" John laughed, which quickly devolved into a coughing fit. "Don't be an arse." He coughed some more. "And don't make me laugh." He groaned and sniffed and pulled the blanket close again.

"Are you chilled? The fever's not back is it?" Sherlock stood, took a few quick steps, and brushed his lips across John's brow.

"No." John actually blushed. "I'm standing here in my pants and a sweaty, smelly t-shirt, and I couldn't find my robe."

"Ah. It's in the laundry. You were wearing it when your fever finally broke."

"Hmm." John nodded. "Thanks, Sherlock. Thank you for..."

"John, please. You've taken care of me so many times. It's my honor and privilege to care for you. Forever and always. We are getting married on Saturday after all."

"God, Sherlock." John whispered. "Married." He wanted to laugh. And cry. But he didn't want to cough, so he just rested his forehead against Sherlock’s shoulder. "I get to spend the rest of my life with my best friend."

"I know, καρδιά μου." Pulling him closer with one arm, Sherlock smiled against John's hair.

"Sherlock? What... Where did this come from?" John stepped back and grabbed the package. "That's... No." He shook his head and traced his finger over their names on the envelope. "My mum..." John couldn't contain the tears then, and leaned hard against Sherlock to keep from falling down.

"Come on, love." Sherlock guided John to the couch and sat them down so that Sherlock could hold John. Bluebell jumped up on the other side of John and watched him with concern in her intelligent eyes.

"Harry was here." John mumbled. "What did she say?"

"She found that letter in a box of your mum's things when your papa died."

"I was deployed... I couldn't help her clean out the house." John took a shuddering breath. "You didn't read it?"

"I... Almost. I almost read it. It does have my name on it too." Sherlock smiled, and John nestled against him.

"Thank you for waiting." John took a deep breath and opened the letter. It was hand written on stationary decorated with shiny star stickers. "Mum loved stars. She's the one who taught me."

 

_My darling boy,_

_I am so sorry that I will not be there to see you grow. To see you become the man I know you are going to be. You are brave, strong, kind, so so smart, and you have the most beautiful heart. I am so proud of you._

_If you're reading this, you've found your William. I wish that I could see you together again. Darling, take great care with his heart. It's the only perfect match for your own. And it is perfect. William, there is greatness in you. A great mind and an even greater heart. Please, love my John well. You will see the greatness in him when he cannot see it in himself._

_My darling boy, I love you. More than you will ever know. Remember me when you and your William look up at the stars?_

 

She signed it simply 'Mum' and had drawn little stars around it. The handwriting started out neat but grew uneven as the hand holding the pen grew weak. The date on the letter was the day before she'd passed.

John read the letter three more times as silent tears fell. Sherlock held him close and tried not to let his own tears be a disturbance. Neither one said a word as John folded the letter carefully and tucked it back in the envelope. He carefully pulled the paper from the gift and they both gasped.

Harry had wrapped up mum's worn copy of "The Little Prince."

"Oh my god." John flipped through the pages and discovered that his mum had used the book as a sort of journal where she kept track of special events and important firsts in her children's lives.

Upon the page where the prince met the fox, his mum had recorded John and William's meeting. John's hands trembled as he turned the pages. Near the end, something fell to his lap.

"Oh..." Sherlock took a sharp breath in as John, who had remained completely silent, handed him a faded photograph. It was little William and little John, sitting shoulder to shoulder under a shade tree. William was holding a blue stuffed dog, and they were deep in conversation.

"The day you left..." Sherlock whispered. "I... there aren't any other photos. This is... This gift..." He looked down into John’s fathomless eyes. "John, are you all right?"

John nodded and stifled a sob. He pressed his face to Sherlock's chest and used his breathing to guide his own.

"I miss her. You would have loved her. She was smart. God, I thought she knew everything there was to know." John placed his hand over Sherlock's heart. "She saw you for who you were, even at six."

"Brilliant woman..." Sherlock lifted John face and wiped his tears away. He kissed John's forehead, and whispered against his hair, "Perfect heart, perfect man."

 

* * *

 

No one was quite ready for dessert. They sat around the table laughing and trading tall tales, most of which revolved around a certain consulting detective and his army doctor turned blogger.

Greg held the record for most outlandish, but absolutely true stories (as verified by Sally), though only because there was actually a limit to how much of their childhood Mycroft was willing to share.

Sally looked around the table and couldn't help but grin.

"What are you thinking, love?" Andy took her hand.

"Look at us. Look at where we are, not just in Myc's dining room, but all together here. Sure, we might have all met professionally, but we're sitting here as friends... and it's all because of those two..."

"Mad bastards?" Greg supplied, and everyone laughed.

"They definitely deserve each other." Sally giggled.

"Truly. My brother..." Mycroft chose his words carefully. "I believe they have saved each other." Violet took his hand in both of hers.

Molly held up her glass. "To John and Sherlock." The others followed her lead. "The universe brought them together. May they never be parted again."

 

 

 _*Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road_  
_Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go_  
_So make the best of this test, and don't ask why_  
_It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time_  
_It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right,_  
_I hope you had the time of your life._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Good Riddance  (Time of Your Life)" -Green Day


	20. Here I Am

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We are one heartbeat,” and she kissed him softly and said, “And will always be.” 
> 
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Donovan turned and waved to Mycroft and Violet before Andy helped her into the cab he had hailed at her request. Mycroft had offered a ride home, but Violet saw Donovan flinch and she shook her head. "I think, love, she remembers a time when..."

"Of course...apologies."

"Al, can you find us a cab? I'm ready to go home, didn't realise how shopping could wear one out so much. Thank you, both so much, for tonight." She hugged Vi carefully; shyly kissed Mycroft on the cheek, then walked out the door to find Andy waiting for her.

He took her hand in his, and smiled, a quiet, thoughtful smile, then he kissed her gently. "If he hadn't kidnapped you that night..."

"I know..." Donovan nodded and looked up into his eyes. "I know."

The cab pulled up and Andy helped her in, then slid in beside her and gave the cabbie their address.

 

How is John? - SD

Better, his fever finally broke, how was dinner? - SH

It was brilliant, Al was freaked out a bit, just being in Myc and Vi's place, thought he might hyperventilate, but he calmed down enough to enjoy it. I wanted to thank you. - SD

Me? What for, Donovan? - SH

You gave me people, Sherlock, a family, without you and John, I wouldn't have Al, and Vi and Molly. I honestly never thought I deserved it. - SD

Of course you do, Sally. We all deserve to be loved. - SH

Thank you anyway. - SD

Thank you, Sally. :) - SH

Not an emoji!? - SD 

;) <3 - SH

LOL - SD

 

"We seem to be alone at last, Vi -" Mycroft whispered as he closed the door and leaned against it after he watched Andy and Donovan's cab depart; Greg and Molly had left a few minutes before them. 

"Uhmhmmm...what shall we do? I'm sure there must be some work to catch up on...some crap telly, perhaps? I suppose...the dishes can...mmm..." Mycroft gazed at her in a way that she felt in her toes and shut down any thoughts that did not revolve around the man who stood in front of her. "Bedroom. Now. All evening, I was watching you, listening and laughing, telling stories... I saw sides of you that I didn't know, I had always suspected they were there, but you never let your guard down completely even with me - I fell in love with you all over again tonight, Myc."

She waited for him to take the few steps towards her, his slightly awkward gait made her breath catch suddenly, and she saw the vulnerability that he had spent a lifetime trying to bury, he had only ever seen it as a disadvantage, something to overcome. She reached out and laid her hand against his chest. "You think Sherlock is the only one with the giant heart. Love, you are so wrong. So wrong. In this chest, this strong, beautiful chest beats a heart I am only beginning to know. Myc - oh, my sweet man." She raised her other hand to his cheek and felt a single tear fall. His hands found purchase on her hips and she sighed. "Let me? Let me see all of you tonight, love?"

He leaned down and kissed her as answer, then mumbled brokenly, 

 

"Here I am  
Yes it's me  
Take my hand  
And you'll see  
Here I am  
Yes it's true  
All I want  
Girl is you." *

 

"Lyle Lovett? Oh, love, you are a treat..."

"All night, your eyes were dancing at me, taking me apart, Vi, I swear, I have no walls left to keep you out, if you let me go right now, I'll crumble into a pile of dust, I have nothing without you now. You do know that, don't you?"

Vi bit her lip and nodded. "I do, love, honestly." 

 

"...We're all sensitive people  
With so much to give, understand me sugar  
Since we got to be here  
Let's live, I love you..."**

 

Myc's bottom lip trembled as he managed a tight smile. "I'm scared Vi - "

 

Her hazel eyes that flashed green when angered, morphed into a golden light suddenly, and she whispered:

 

"If Ford is to Chevrolet  
What Dodge is to Chrysler  
What Corn Flakes are to Post Toasties  
What the clear blue sky is to the deep blue sea  
What Hank Williams is to Neil Armstrong  
Can you doubt we were made for each other?"*

 

"Damn, Vi - why are we still wearing all of these clothes?"

"You tell me, love."

He grinned, then took her hand and led her to their bedroom. He turned on the lamp beside the bed and began to undress, carefully undoing his cuffs then unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it from his trousers, and slipping out of it. He let it fall to the floor, then began on his trousers. She took a sharp breath in as he stepped out of them gingerly, wincing the slightest bit. She almost reached out for him, but the look on his face stopped her short. He pulled off his pants and stood before her completely naked in every way, and she nearly crumpled to her knees. But she managed to steady herself and pull the dress she had thrown on earlier in the day over her head, then nodded to him, granting him permission to remove the last bits of her clothing. She sighed as she gazed lovingly at him. It was the first time he had put the light on before they made love and she understood the trust he was giving over to her, letting her see him, as he was, without any defenses. She nodded and blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall as she stretched out a single finger to trace the newest scar along his hip. She felt him shiver slightly as she moved on to more ancient damage, their shared history was written in his skin.

"I almost lost you so many times, Myc." 

He placed a finger to her lips and shook his head. "I'm here now, love. Please?"

She gasped as he moved her hand to his chest, she felt his heart beating fiercely against her fingers, as if it were a bird trying to escape. She had never known him to feel so alive. He was asking, begging her to put him back together because he had flown apart into too many tiny shards, too many pieces.

"Trust me, love."

He nodded as she helped him into bed; he was laid out, flushed, chest heaving, his full arousal made her shiver with want, but she calmed herself down and took a deep breath, then climbed into bed next to him. "I know what you are giving me tonight, Myc, I know the risk you are taking. Let me take care of you, my sweet, beautiful man."

"I'm not -"

"Shh...you are, you know." She watched as he finally gave in, letting it all go. She touched him gently through it, until he was on the edge of completely shattering beneath her hands, tears streaming down both of their faces, she mounted him carefully and he whimpered her name as he came inside her over and over. "You are the most beautiful man I have ever known, Mycroft Holmes, and I can't even begin to tell you how much I love you."

"Vi -" His voice was broken, and yet stronger than she had ever heard it in all of their years together. He was finally known completely and found to be worthy of love; he was finally home.

"I know, love. I know. Rest, now." She laid down next to him and held him in her arms as she felt him tumble into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * 'Here I Am' lyrics by Lyle Lovett
> 
> ** 'Let's Get it On' lyrics by Marvin Gaye, Ed Townsend


	21. I Know...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Anything there is that I can do for you, I will do for you; anything there is that I cannot do, I will learn to do.” --William Goldman, (The Princess Bride)

"John." Sherlock continued to run the fingers of one hand through John's hair. As soon as he'd started, John had melted against him, wrapped his arms around him, and just... stayed. He hadn't seemed in a rush to move from the couch, where Sherlock had held him as he'd mourned his mum. And Sherlock had been content with lingering, holding onto each other. He could have stayed there forever. But... "John?"

"Hmmm?" He sounded near falling asleep again. John definitely needed to go back to bed. But...

"It's been nearly two days since you've eaten anything... I need to get you something to eat."

"Not hungry." He mumbled against Sherlock’s chest. As on cue, his stomach rumbled and Sherlock chuckled.

"I got that soup you like from Angelo."

"With the meatballs?"

"Yes, with the meatballs."

John sighed, and Sherlock knew he had prevailed. "And while I'm heating it, you'll be in the tub soaking."

"What..."

"Your muscles are still aching. The heat will help. And the steam will help your congestion."

"Yeah, okay, doctor."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Besides, after two days of fever, you're a bit rank."

"Oi!" John laughed and coughed, and pushed away from Sherlock with a huff. "Fine." He tousled Sherlock's hair. "You could do with a good scrubbing too."

"I have been otherwise occupied." His smile was the nearest thing to bashful John had ever seen, and his breath caught when Sherlock leaned forward and kissed him on the forehead. "Perfect." He whispered.

"Sherlock..." John rasped. His stomach rumbled and they both giggled.

"Bath and soup. Come on."

"And tea?"

"Yes, of course."

"Not the herbal stuff... Real black tea, don't care what kind. Please?" John blinked up at him with near pleading eyes. Sherlock huffed a laugh and winked.

"As you wish."

"Did you just..."

"Bath." Sherlock pushed John toward the loo. He took away John's blanket, guided him to sit on the closed toilet seat, turned on the taps, added a generous amount of lavender scented bubble bath and a container of something he'd pulled down from the shelf.

"Sherlock, what..."

"Epsom salts, ginger, honey and lemon. Combined with the heat, the mix should soothe your aches and help your body detox." He threw a couple of the herbal tea bags in as well, for good measure.

John peered into the tub, shrugged and mumbled about witch's brews. "Smells nice, at least."

Sherlock disappeared for a few minutes, and by the time he returned with a steaming mug of Earl Grey (with honey and only a splash of milk), and fresh pyjamas, John was sunk to his chin in the bath. His eyes were closed, and he hummed contentedly. "Damn, Sherlock. This is... divine. Bloody brilliant. I may never get out of this tub." He groaned in delight as he sipped the tea.

"Inadvisable." Sherlock chuckled. "But take your time."

"Oh god. I intend to."

The water had gone tepid before John decided he'd soaked long enough. He dried himself and dressed quickly, and brushed his teeth twice to get rid of the sick thick feeling. Sherlock met him at the door, and led him to his chair; a fresh mug of tea and a mug of soup were waiting on the side table.

"I feel so much better." John sighed and allowed Sherlock to tuck a blanket around him and hand him the mug of tea.

"You certainly smell better." A cheeky grin earned him a playful kick to the shin.

"Thank you, Sherlock." John caught his hand.

"John, I told you..."

"I know. But I still appreciate you."

Sherlock squeezed John's hand and nodded. "I think I'll shower. You finish that. There's more if you want it. Uhm..." He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. When he finally looked, John was watching him expectantly. "I love you." He didn't need John to repeat the sentiment, he only needed John to know. To understand... "I love you." He whispered.

Even in sickness, perfect John understood Sherlock's intent. His small, lopsided smile was knowing and fond. "I know, love." He drew Sherlock's hand up and pressed a light kiss to his knuckles. "I know."

Sherlock nodded, and retreated down the hall. He hurried through his own shower. He didn't waste much time on his hair, they'd both go to the barber in the morning. Dressed in fresh pyjamas and his robe, Sherlock retrieved a few of Angelo's desserts from the refrigerator, and was contemplating his own mug of soup when he realized there was music coming from the sitting room.

"John?"

"Sherlock..." John was standing in the middle of the room. The cd Timótheos and Pétros had recorded was playing, and Sherlock actually recognized the song. John held out his hand, "dance with me?"

"You need to rest." Even as he scolded, he was moving to take John's hand.

"I will. But now I need you to know..."

"I do..." Sherlock's breath caught. "I know, John. I..." He exhaled deeply and kissed him. He kissed John. He didn't ask permission or over think it. And it was... what? Gentle as the first time had been. Timid, yes... Sweet? He thought so. Beautiful? Perfect... Oh god, he kissed John. "Sorry..." Panicking he stepped back, but John stopped him by placing his hand over his racing heart.

"καρδιά μου," John leaned up lightly brushed an innocent kiss over Sherlock's lips. Sherlock could feel him smiling. "We're getting married." Sherlock nodded and wrapped his arms around John. They held on to each other, not caring about proper form or foot placement, just as they had that night in Greece, and danced.

 

*And time goes by so slowly  
And time can do so much  
Are you still mine?  
I need your love  
I need your love  
God speed your love to me

 

* * *

 

"C'mon. Why do I have to wait until the wedding? You've already seen me in my suit. It's only fair."

Molly laughed. "No. I saw you in your suit because you're a menace and can't be trusted with nice things. And John needed a babysitter." She giggled, but then frowned at her mobile. "He's not responding. Let me try calling from your phone."

"You can try, but I think he's less likely to respond to me after yesterday. He was none too happy." Greg tossed his phone to Molly. As he expected, it rang out and she got Sherlock’s voice mail. "Why are you obsessing? It's late. Hopefully John's sleeping it off, and if we're lucky, Sherlock's resting too."

"I just..." Molly sighed and passed Greg's phone back. She sent another text from her own mobile and resumed brushing her hair. "I'm worried. He doesn't usually ignore me... Well, not any more."

Greg rolled his eyes. "He's an idiot for ever ignoring you in the first place." He shrugged. "That worked out pretty well for me though."

"Arse," Molly laughed and dropped down onto the bed next to where Greg was stretched out, relaxed and lazy. He pulled her close.

"Tonight was a good night." He kissed the top of her head. "A very good night."

Greg had none of the same reservations Sally had when Mycroft offered to have a car take them home. They'd accepted the ride, and having both been a bit tipsy, proceeded to "go at it like teenagers," as Molly so eloquently described it.

"We have to. In Myc's fancy government car. It's our civic duty." Greg had reasoned, and Molly thought that made perfect sense.

They'd continued the fulfillment of their duties on the couch (to Toby's dismay), in the guest room, and then the shower.

"Hmmm." Molly snuggled into Greg's side. "We should go check on them."

"Mols, come on." Greg lifted her face up. "They're fine. We joke, but you know Sherlock is taking nothing more seriously than getting John well. Myc said he's willing to postpone everything just to make sure John is completely better. They are fine."

"I guess..."

"Besides, I don't think I can move from this spot right now. Damn, woman."

"Such a romantic." Molly giggled.

"Don't expect my brain to pull Shakespeare from the archives after... that."

"What?" She batted her eyelashes innocently, and then rolled up so she could kiss him deeply. "This?"

"God, you're perfect. I bet you look amazing in that new dress."

"I do. I look fucking drop dead gorgeous."

"Show me."

"Nu-uh. It's a surprise."

Greg pouted until Molly kissed him again. "You're a tease, you know that? 'You have witchcraft in your lips.'"**

"Ah, there he is." Molly smiled at him sweetly and kissed his nose with a giggle.

"You're going to be the death of me."

"'Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.'"** Molly grinned mischievously as she clicked off the bedside lamp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Unchained Melody," music by Alex North and lyrics by Hy Zaret
> 
> **Shakespeare; Henry V, Act v, Scene ii
> 
> **Shakespeare; As You Like It, Act iv, Scene i


	22. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Because there was a limit to just how much you could lie to yourself.”  
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride
> 
> (added an 'Angst' tag to the story because of this chapter)

Andy was quiet as he watched her get ready for bed. It was a silence that she remembered from Baskerville, a sound, or non-sound as the case may be, that meant he was trying to deal with something on his own. Something hard, one of the mended cracks he didn't share easily. She knew vaguely of the pain that still lingered from Laura Lyons' betrayal, and his part in the death of her son, but she hadn't wanted to pry.

"You don't have to carry it all by yourself anymore, you know?" She murmured to him from her chair. Her eyes caught his in the mirror, his gentle, usually bright, smiling eyes looked lost, he seemed even younger for a moment before he could recover.

"Sorry." He smiled sadly at her and tried to turn away from her gaze.

"Why? Why are you sorry?" She asked quietly.

"You were so happy tonight. Like you had everything you ever wanted, and I briefly wondered what the hell I was doing there, like somehow I had ended up at the adults table by mistake. It was just for a moment, but -"

"It was enough to make you wonder if what we have is real?" She got up from her chair and walked over to him. "You do know that you are the one who was chiefly responsible for my happiness tonight. No, that's not it, you made me believe that there is something in me worth loving. You gave me permission, damn, I'm saying this badly. I've never been good at making friends; I had gone through most of my life alone, because I was afraid, afraid to get hurt. Tonight, I realised I want, I need other people in my life to be truly happy, I don't want to just get by anymore - do you have any idea what I'm trying to say? Because I'm making a hash of it. You-"

"Donovan - " He whispered brokenly, afraid to look up at her. "Sally - I -"

"Please? You know you can tell me anything, I know there is something you are afraid to tell me-" He finally met her eyes and she whispered,"You don't know." He bit his lip and shook his head. It struck her suddenly just how young he seemed then. His eyes, that usually seemed to be older than they should be were wide open and shy, wanting so much to tell her and yet uncertain.

She collapsed to her knees in front of him, wanting so much to reach out for him, but somehow knew it wasn't what he needed.

He watched her carefully for a long moment, took a breath and nodded, then began to undo the buttons on his cuffs. "It started - so early," he rolled up his sleeves and she could clearly see faded marks that ran up and down his arms. "I learned at a very young age to pretend nothing was wrong. As long as I didn't make too much noise, or cry or show any big emotion, everything was fine. At least on the good days. On her bad days..." He unbuttoned his shirt slowly and removed it, then pulled his t shirt over his head. She tried not to react, but her breath caught, as she saw what she had somehow convinced herself were work related scars, she now understood them for what they actually were. She waited for him to speak, but then realised he needed something from her, some reassurance that he was okay, that he was safe, that he was still the same person he had been thirty seconds before. She had been taught how to speak to young abuse victims as part of her job, but this was her 'Al', and she knew what she did next could save him or shatter him completely. She placed her hands on his knees gently, and felt him tremble under her fingers. She closed her eyes and hoped.

 

"...Lean on me, when you're not strong  
And I'll be your friend  
I'll help you carry on  
For it won't be long  
'Til I'm gonna need  
Somebody to lean on

Please swallow your pride  
If I have faith you need to borrow  
For no one can fill those of your needs  
That you won't let show..."*

 

She stopped as she heard him fall to the floor in front of her. His arms wrapped around her and he buried his face against her chest. She continued to hum as she held him, and felt him shake in her arms.

"I'm so, so sorry, my love. You did nothing to deserve it, it was not your fault -"

"But -" he mumbled miserably through his tears that soaked her shirt.

"No, love. You did nothing wrong."

He laughed against her, a harsh chuckle. "No, nothing at all, just the fact that I existed was enough."

She closed her eyes and swallowed her desire to howl in rage. But she knew he didn't need her anger, he needed her to be - what, exactly, she wasn't at all sure.

Donovan pulled back a bit and touched his face gently. "Tell me, tell me what I can do, love?"

He sniffled and blinked at her, and she finally realised how utterly exhausted he was. She had no idea how he had made it through the day without falling over, and she understood just how strong the man in front of her truly was; he was remarkable.

"You - still want me?" His voice was small and hoarse, but hopeful.

She nodded and waited.

"I'm so tired, Sally. I just need to sleep, will you lie down next to me?"

"Tell me what you need."

"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don't think I can move anymore tonight."

She shook her head, "Let me?"

He nodded and she helped him to his feet, then helped him to sit on the edge of the bed, and unbuttoned his trousers. She hesitated as he drew in a sharp breath, but he touched her hand letting her know he was okay. She slid them off, then got up and laid them over the arm of his chair. She turned back and looked at him. He was watching her, looking for any change in her, trying to guess what she wanted from him that would allow him to stay.

 

"...Even when you're crying you're beautiful too  
The world is beating you down, I'm around through every mood  
You're my downfall, you're my muse  
My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues..."**

 

"I know it's difficult for you to believe right now, Andy, but you don't have be anything more than who you are for me to want you; to love you, to want to be with you. I understand you a bit better now, that's all that has changed. You are still the person I love."

"I love you." He managed an exhausted smile and she nodded at him.

"I know, I truly do know, love. Now, let's get you to bed, yeah?"

She helped him into bed, then laid down next to him, unsure if he wanted her to hold him.

"Please?" He sighed. "I need you, Sally."

She curled around him and whispered. "I'm not going anywhere, love." She held onto him all night, through the nightmares that threatened to tear him apart, through the mumbling, the sobbing and the moments of silence when she was terrified he had stopped breathing. Finally, he slept harder than she had ever seen anyone sleep before, waking up half a day later.

"You're still here," he whispered when he opened his eyes.

"I told you I would be." She touched his face gently, and kissed him. "Are you hungry?"

"Mmmm, yes. I'm starving. What time is it?"

"Noon."

"Noon? Oh, Donovan - I'm sorry - " He tried to roll away from her, but she stopped him.

"No. Don't. You haven't slept in weeks, and even before we met, you didn't sleep much, did you?"

He shook his head. "I learned how not to sleep. Things were worse at night, when she was - " he bit his lip, then continued. "I just adapted to her moods, I could tell when it was going to be a bad day or a good one simply by what music she put on first thing in the morning - that album, that Nina Simone that you played a couple of nights ago was her favourite. When she put that on, I knew I was going to be okay." He looked away from her, then turned back and kissed her like his life depended on it. "Thank you, Donovan. Thank you for being, well, just, you. I don't know how I lived without you. You make it easier to breathe, do you know that?"

The tears she had been holding back came silently in a rush, and he asked her with his eyes. She nodded, he undressed her, removed his pants and they made love until they fell asleep again, this time he cradled her in his arms, her head resting against his chest, her hand clasped lightly around his wrist, reminding them both that they were still there. Together.

 

"Here comes the sun, here comes the sun  
And I say it's all right

Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter  
Little darling, it feels like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun, here comes the sun  
And I say it's all right..."***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * 'Lean On Me' Lyrics by Bill Withers  
> ** 'All of Me' Lyrics by Toby Gad and John Legend  
> *** 'Here Comes the Sun' Lyrics by George Harrison, John Lennon and Paul McCartney


	23. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I suppose I was dying again, so I asked the Lord of Permanent Affection for the strength to live the day. Clearly, the answer came in the affirmative." -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

A well familiar voice humming an unfamiliar tune caused him to stir awake. The spot on the bed next to him was cool, vacated long ago. Pushing errant curls back from his face, Sherlock stumbled from the bed and immediately stubbed his toe. He blinked bleary eyes at the offending piece of furniture -- not his side table, but a rather sturdy wash stand.

"Damn." He grumbled as he drew Holmes' robe around him. 'Waking up' in the other 221b meant he was dreaming, which meant he was sleeping rather than keeping watch to make sure John really was recuperating.

It also meant he wasn't finalizing his list with the plan for the day. It promised to be a busy day. Absolutely hectic. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth. The day before the most important day. Well, one of the most important, in a long line of other very important days...

Sherlock's breath caught as he watched the other man in the sitting room. His back to him, he was hesitantly faltering his way through a waltz, dancing alone and humming a tune, a bit fast for a waltz, but the 6/8 time worked.

Clearing his throat, so as not to startle, Sherlock stepped into the sitting room. "Watson?"

"No, Sherlock, it's just me." John turned to face him and grinned.

"What are you doing?"

"Waltz. Or, trying to..."

"That was definitely a waltz, albeit, not great." Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him. He adjust John's stance and slowly began leading him. "You should be resting."

"This is a dream, Sherlock." John  chuckled. "Spent a lot of time here the past couple of days..." He frowned, "when I wasn't having the fever nightmares."

Sherlock kissed John on the forehead, and they both giggled. "And what did you do while you were here?"

"Hmm. Besides waiting for you to show up?" John chuckled.

"John, you were very ill."

"You need to sleep as well. Especially since there were no cases on."

"Oh. But there was." Sherlock pulled John a little closer than a waltz generally allowed for. "You take priority. Every time. I couldn't..."

"I know, love." John smiled up at him and narrowly missed stepping on his foot. "Holmes told me about cases he and Watson had gone on. Some very odd ones."

"That explains some of the things you were mumbling. Something about vampires and poison darts. Ah, a yellow face? I believe there was a monkey man..." Sherlock paused long enough to correct John's stance once more.

John sighed. "I've been told I talk in my sleep when I'm feverish." Sherlock scowled at the possible implications and John rolled his eyes. "After I was shot, and I picked up the infection... Apparently I talked about my friend William in great detail."

"John..."

"Reminded me I had a reason to live."

Abandoning proper form, Shelock pulled John against his chest and wrapped him in his arms. John laughed.

"I also asked Holmes to teach me to dance. Figured if I couldn't get it when I'm awake, maybe I could in my dreams, so at least we could dance here."

"And..."

"I think he gave up on me." John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock chuckled. "I like this, even if it isn't proper dancing."

"I've discovered that the most important part of any dance is not the technique, not the form, nor the execution. The most important part of any dance is my partner."  Sherlock sighed contentedly. "I'd rather have this with you than any waltz, or samba, with the most skilled partner in the world."

"Thanks... I think." John grinned up at him.

Sherlock faltered, "I didn't mean..."

"Shhh. I knew what you meant, love." He pressed a light kiss to Sherlock's cheek and then laid his head back down. "Kissing you is..."

"I think... I like it."

"Hmmm." John hummed contentedly, and then softly began singing the tune Sherlock had heard him humming before.

 

* _When I look into your eyes_  
_It's like watching the night sky_  
_Or a beautiful sunrise_  
_Well, there's so much they hold_  
_And just like them old stars_  
_I see that you've come so far_  
_To be right where you are_  
_How old is your soul?_

 _Well, I won't give up on us_  
_Even if the skies get rough_  
_I'm giving you all my love_  
_I'm still looking up_

 

John stretched and blinked awake to find Sherlock's gaze focused on him. His breath was stolen by the ethereal beauty. The early morning sun shining in from the window, casting golden highlights on the tumble of dark curls. Sherlock’s eyes shone like the ocean reflecting the sunshine, and his smile was beatific. "Hi."

"Good morning, John." Sherlock chuckled.

"So... tomorrow..."

"Hmmm." Sherlock looked as if he could barely contain himself. John could see six year old William waiting just below the surface.

"Busy day today."

"Only if you're feeling up to it."

"I do." John blushed and ducked his head. "I want to help."

"Good. The first part of the plan for today is you stay right here." Sherlock started to get up.

"But..."

"The plan, John." Sherlock smiled fondly at him then kissed his forehead. "Stay. Please." John nodded and giggled as Sherlock rolled from the bed and disappeared through the door with a flourish.

 

* * *

 

"Do you know, of all the people I've known who were viable candidates for marriage, I never would have expected one of them to be Sherlock." Greg added the onions and peppers to the omelet he was making. "I mean, I didn't necessarily want him to end up alone, I just always thought he was above all that relationship... stuff. But then John..."

"Oh, shit." Molly growled. "Damn it. Look at this." She rose from the table and held out her tablet for Greg to see. She had pulled up one of the weekly gossip publications. The cover story was a photo of Greg with his arms around a very sick John, trying to keep him upright. Of course the captions hinted at infidelity, betrayal, and an obvious bout of substance abuse, all made worse by the upcoming ceremony.

"Fucking vultures." Greg turned off the stove and expertly tipped the omelet out onto a plate, where it was promptly forgotten.

Molly emailed the link to Violet and her mobile buzzed immediately.

 

Myc just showed it to me. He's on the warpath. -VH

Do we tell them? -MH

Myc says no. If they see it, we'll deal with them then, but until then, we take care of this on our own. -VH

What do we do? -MH

Myc's arranging extra security detail between now and tomorrow. -VH

I just crashed the site until Myc can persuade them to take the story down. -VH

 

"Ah, he's going to have to be more than persuasive. Two more sites just picked up the story." Greg held the tablet up.

 

Did you see? Two more. -MH

I shut the bastards down. Bloody hell. Can't they just have peace for a few days? -VH

Ah, apparently you've never actually spent time with them. -MH

 

Greg's phone buzzed then, and he laughed when he saw who the message was from. "I think I'm being summoned for duty." He held it up for Molly to see.

 

I'll be by with a car in an hour. We'll pay a visit to the publication offices in person. -MH

What about 'free press' Myc? Won't shutting them down cause a fuss? -GL

These publications are only interested in telling stories that will make them the most money. What I'm prepared to offer them in exchange for leaving my brother and John out of their pages for the next 72 hours will be well worth their cooperation. -MH

And if they fail to cooperate, there are other means. -MH

Bloody hell. Remind me never to get on your bad side. -GL

Will you join me in defending their honor? -MH

As noble a cause as any. I'll be ready in an hour. -GL

 

Pouring himself more coffee, Greg shook his head. "Myc and I are going down to the publication offices. He's going to make them an offer they can't refuse." He chuckled. "We'll have it sorted by lunch."

"Before, if Myc and Vi have anything to say about it." Molly held out a bite of omelet to him.

"Mhmm." After another bite of omelet, Greg kissed Molly on the cheek. "Guess I better get ready. Mycroft is picking me up."

Molly pulled his face toward hers and kissed him deeply. "You boys have fun storming the castle."

 

* * *

 

John was on the edge of dozing off again, with Bluebell curled beside him, when Sherlock returned carrying a tray. "Breakfast?"

"Sherlock," John laughed as he sat up. "You didn't have to."

"I wanted to." He set the tray down next to John and carefully climbed back into bed. He handed John a mug.

"Is this..."

"Hot chocolate. Sally sent me the recipe. Her grandmother used to make it when she was ill."

"Oh god." John took a long sip. "Dark chocolate?" Another sip followed by a happy sigh.

With a pleased smile, Sherlock nodded. "With honey and a hint of cinnamon."

"Remind me to kiss Sally."

Sherlock shook his head. "Nope. I'll not be reminding you to kiss anyone else..." He bit his lip and blushed. John took his hand and kissed his knuckles.

"I'll hug her then."

"Hmm. If you must." Sherlock picked a cherry from the bowl on the tray and held it to John's lips.

"Where did you... Mmmm." He closed his eyes as he savored the sweet tartness. When he opened his eyes, Sherlock was holding out a piece of bread with fig preserves and honey. "How? That bread..." John let Sherlock feed him the bite.

"A wedding gift. The packages arrived yesterday while you were sleeping." Sherlock took his own bite and groaned in delight.

"Thank you, καρδιά μου." John accepted another bit of bread. "This is a very good plan."

"It's not all..." Sherlock put a cherry in his own mouth and then turned to reach under the bed. He pulled out a package wrapped in blue paper with little stars on it.

"Sherlock."

"It's not..." He took a deep breath. "I've had these in a box..." John took the package and gently tore the paper away.

"Oh. God. Sher..." John blinked rapidly but the tears couldn't be prevented. "I... Jean-Henri." He turned the worn and well loved stuffed dog over and over in his hands. "And what is..."  With Jean-Henri was a stuffed, only slightly worn, star. It had a silly smiley face printed on the front, and the bright yellow color had faded with time.

"I promised, John. I promised you I would win something for you. I went right after you left and begged Aunt Tilly to take me to the boardwalk." Sherlock watched John, he sat very still, holding the star in both hands, as tears ran down his face. "That was one promise I could keep. I called him Gladstone, because..."

The sound John made was caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

"You can change it..."

John shook his head. "Perfect. It's perfect." He moved the tray out of the way. "You're perfect." He pulled Sherlock into a tight hug. "God, you're amazing."

Sherlock sniffed, wrapped his arms around John and kissed his forehead. They both giggled.

"I have something for you too..." John pulled back, and dug for something in the side table drawer. "I made you a promise too." He held out his hand and on his palm lay a small blue shell.

"John." Sherlock gasped and took the shell, noting how worn the surface was, and the imperfections that hadn't been there years before. There were chips, a small crack, a rust colored stain... "John?"

"I carried it with me everywhere. It was my 'good luck.'" He rolled his eyes expecting Sherlock to mock him, but he was only met with expectation. "That, uhm..." He pointed to a chip. "Car accident when I was twelve. We were mostly fine... I had a broken arm. And that..." He indicated the crack. "Too close when an IED went off. A few broken ribs, and that crack. I was one of the fortunate ones."

Sherlock shifted closer to John, and pulled him nearer. He pointed to the rust colored stain, and John made a pained noise.

"Had it in my shirt pocket when I was shot. That's my blood."

Cradling the shell in his palm as if it were the most precious treasure on earth, Sherlock's mouth quirked up into a tiny smile. "I was with you."

"Everywhere I went. Until..." John cleared his throat. "I uhm... carried that with me even after I moved in... Had it at the pool." Sherlock gasped and closed his fingers around the shell as if to protect it. "And at Bart's that day..."

"John..."

"I put it away the day of your funeral." John exhaled slowly. "Figured my good luck had run out." He leaned against Sherlock, and Sherlock held him tight. They sat in contemplative silence for a few moments.

"But I came back." Sherlock eventually whispered.

"You came back. And then I didn't need good luck. I had you."

"And now?"

"I was only holding it until I could give it back to you. I don't need a reminder any more, I've got the real thing."

 

* * *

 

Did you see the gossip pages? -MH

What are you doing about it, Myc? -H

Not to worry, Martha. It's already settled. -MH

Who did you have to sell out to make it go away? -H

A royal cousin. Nothing a press conference, a rehearsed apology, and a stint in rehab won't repair. -MH

Very well. The married ones are on high alert for press presence. All clear so far. -H

Any indication my brother or John saw it? -MH

It's been very quiet this morning. They both slept through the night. Poor dears. -H

Quiet is good. They will not find out about this. -MH

Agreed. And tomorrow? -H

Every precaution has been set in place. Greg and I are with Mrs. Turner now. -MH

Well done, Myc. You're a good brother. -H

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"I Won't Give Up," Jason Mraz


	24. A Change of Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I must be overtired', Buttercup managed. 'The excitement and all.'  
> 'Rest then', her mother cautioned. 'Terrible things can happen when you're overtired...”   
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

"Stop worrying, you look amazing." Andy nuzzled her neck as she fussed at herself in the mirror. She wasn't needed at the Yard until Monday, but she wanted to drop off a box or two. Lestrade had cleared out his things last week. Maintenance had already thrown a new coat of institutional beige on the walls, but she got to pick out her chair which should be there waiting for her today.

"I'm supposed to look like I'm in charge, hmmm...if you keep doing that...yes...that...ohmmmmphhh. You will have to behave yourself, you know, at work?"

"We're not at work, and I've had more sleep in the last twenty-four hours than I've had in years..." He spun her around and grinned at her, then began unbuttoning her shirt. 

"Al - " He slipped the soft charcoal shirt from her shoulders and she sighed. "I - god - please, don't -"

"Don't what?" He murmured as he pulled her camisole above her head and tossed it on the floor next to her shirt.

"Don't stop, please, god - I want you." She moaned as he ran his long fingers down her sides, coming to a stop at her hips, then captured her mouth with a kiss, a kiss full of gratitude, but more than that, a promise that he was hers completely. 

"You have me. There has never been anyone else but you."

"What?" Her eyes popped open and her jaw dropped.

"No, not what I mean." He shook his head and began again. "There have been others, but not in the way...Donovan - you have broken me and healed me; changed me in ways that I don't completely understand yet. All I know is that my heart and my soul belong to you. And I didn't even believe I was the owner of a soul until last night, when you gave me permission to, I have never known what it means to be truly loved until you, you remarkable, brilliant, beautiful-"

"Al -" Donovan groaned as he kissed her neck and worked his way down; he held her hands in his as he rested his head against her chest.

"I love you, Detective Inspector Donovan, do you hear me?"

She felt her knees go, and they melted against each other until they softly hit the carpet. She realised at that moment that she could do anything as long as he was by her side. She also knew how it sounded in her head, she who had worked so hard not to need anyone, she knew now that she just hadn't found the right one until now.

"And I love you, Al - I think you understand how much, don't you?"

"Yes, Guv, I believe I do." He held her in his arms and gazed into her eyes. His soft smile lit up his face in a way she had never seen before and she answered it with a kiss. He laughed and murmured. "I think we should finish this later, let's go see your office, hmm?"

 

Can you explain why there is a horde of journalists gathered on Baker Street? - SH

Damn. - MH

Myc? - SH

There was a snap taken of John with Greg when he was ill, you can imagine the headlines. - MH

I have, we have things to do, we ARE getting MARRIED tomorrow. - SH

I'm sorry, brother mine, I did the best I could, the press is even more rabid than before.- MH

John will not know. DO you UNDERSTAND? - SH

Of course, I will do what I can. - MH

I need someone to pick up our suits, I'm just glad I got the rings yesterday. I'm sorry, it's not your fault, I know that, I just want tomorrow to be perfect, not a circus. It's just that I had a plan, and that plan did NOT include being hounded by the press. - SH

I have an idea, keep John distracted for a bit of time? - MH

One hour. Myc, please? - SH

 

"DI Donovan? I'm sorry to ask for a favour, as you haven't officially started yet?"

"Name it, Mycroft." 

"An unfortunate photo appeared on some online rags this morning -"

"Yes. I saw it. Arseholes." 

"Now it seems the 'regular press' knows about it and a crowd has has gathered at Baker Street. I thought I had circumvented them. However. Sherlock saw them and is understandably -"

"Furious?"

"To say the least, he doesn't want John to know; we need a bit of a diversion - if you could - "

Donovan looked in the mirror, she was dressed once again, and had pulled her hair back, she looked ready to kick someone's arse; the press was as good as anyone else.

"I'll be there in five minutes, Mycroft. Tell Sherlock not get his panties in a bunch, and focus on getting John well for tomorrow."

"Many thanks, DI Donovan."

"Al! Our first emergency at Baker Street, stop preening, you're too pretty as it is..."

"Yes, Guv."

"Just follow my lead."

"As always."

 

As promised, Donovan and Al arrived at Baker Street, five minutes later. Heads turned at the arrival of a very official looking sedan, and the whispers began as Donovan emerged from the passenger side, looking even more official. Al led the way as the sea of reporters parted, allowing her access to the front door of 221 B. She turned and managed to school her features as diplomatically as Mycroft could only dream of, though he had never faced the press in this manner before; he was simply a voice that no one disregarded without severe consequences.

"Good morning, I am Detective Inspector Donovan. You will address me as Detective Inspector or DI Donovan if you want your questions answered. I will only answer questions regarding my new appointment upon the departure of DI Lestrade. No other questions will be taken at this time."

One reporter she knew all too well raised a finger, and she nodded in his direction, as she knew he would ask a question that would close out this press conference rather quickly.

"Hey, Sal, congrats, who'dya sleep with to get the promotion?"

She felt the air that surrounded Al turn suddenly. She resisted the temptation to hold him back and hoped his training would kick in.

"Obviously not you, Frank." The crowd tittered and she relaxed. "Now if there are no other questions, you guys are blocking traffic, there is no news here." 

She watched them all glare at the windows above her, but they all turned away and soon the street was clear.

 

Impressive, DI Donovan. You looked very official on the telly. Sorry - thank you, again. Also, John loves the hot chocolate, don't be surprised if he hugs you tomorrow. - SH

Just get him well, Sherlock. - SD

Doing my best. You and Andy look good together, it was remarkable how you couldn't quite tell that he wanted to beat the crap out of Frank. - SH

He's learning. ;) Get some rest, big day tomorrow. - SD

Wouldn't be possible without you. Thank you. - SH

Stop that. - SD

Can't, I'll always be grateful to you, you'll just have to learn to deal with it. - SH

Yeah, yeah, okay. See you tomorrow. - SD

 

Thank you, DI - MH

Happy to do it, I know no matter how much he loathes the press, John hates them ten times more, with good reason. - SD

See you tomorrow. - MH

Feel free to contact me if anything else happens. - SD

Hopefully it won't be necessary, but thank you. - MH

 

Andy closed the door to Donovan's new office and leaned against it. "You were brilliant."

She sat down in her new chair and grinned at him. "And you managed not to rip out Frank's throat, well done." 

"Believe me, if there hadn't been a crowd, I'd have rearranged certain parts of his anatomy." Andy rolled his eyes and jumped a bit as there was a knock at the door.

"Damn...Anderson. Be nice, Al?"

"Yes, Guv." He opened the door to Anderson and nodded at him, then walked over to his desk and pulled out a file. He knew he had a lot to prove in a short time, especially as he hadn't worked up through the ranks, and he suspected there were rumblings about possible connections. He kept an ear out as he could hear Donovan's voice rise, but he waited until he heard his phone ring. "Sergeant Gilchrist."

"Come to my office, bring the file."

"Yes, Guv."

He knocked on the door. "Come."

Anderson was slumped in the chair opposite from Donovan, any conversation seemed to be over. He looked up and glared at Andy. "You. You were involved in that case - Sherlock and Moran -" He glanced at Donovan and shook his head. "You're happy?"

Donovan nodded, and tried to calm her breathing. "Yeah. I am."

Anderson shrugged and muttered. "Good. No. Really. You deserve it, Sally. My, uhm, wife has been wanting me to ask for a transfer for years. Now is as good a time as any other. You'll be great, saw that 'press conference.' You handled Frank really well, he always was an arse. And don't worry. I won't say anything, it's nobody's business, but yours." He got up and walked out the door without another word.

"That went better than I expected." Donovan took a deep breath and Andy smiled softly at her. 

"He was right you know. You deserve to be happy and it's really nobody's business but ours. Let's get out of here. You don't start work til Monday, and we haven't bought them a wedding present yet."

"Oh god - what the hell do we get them?"

 

"What's going on?" John murmured as Sherlock turned off his phone, then replaced his hand in John's hair, trying to calm himself down.

"Hmmm?"

"Something happened. You were furious. Now you're not. What happened while I was asleep and don't tell me nothing -"

Sherlock sighed and looked down into John's eyes. Eyes that had seen too much, known too little peace, and Sherlock knew he couldn't lie to him about anything anymore. "When you were out with Greg and Molly someone got a snap, of you and Greg...it was all over the online rags and then leaked to the 'regular press', and they showed up in full force. Donovan helped get rid of them. That's all. I didn't want you to worry or get angry, I wanted tomorrow to be perfect -"

John raised a finger to Sherlock's lips and the babble ceased."Shhh, it will be, because you will be there, and I will be there, and everyone who loves us will be there. That's all that matters."

"I love you." Sherlock bent down and brushed John's lips with his own. "I had plans today, all these little things to let you know how much I love you, and all I want to do now is hold you. It seems a bit selfish, somehow."

"Not selfish at all, love. What if we go to bed so we can both sleep? You need to rest too." Sherlock shook his head and tried to stifle a yawn. John smiled at him, as they stood up together, then Sherlock held tightly onto his hand, stopping him from moving.

"John."

"καρδιά μου?"

"I, this is going to sound, damn. I keep thinking I have finished falling in love with you, that I can't possibly feel any more for you, and I get hit by a wave of just everything. The way you smell, your smile, the way you make me eat, the way, god - the way you are looking at me right now like I'm the biggest idi-"

John placed his hand along Sherlock's face and pulled him into the longest, deepest kiss they'd ever shared, then brought their foreheads together as they began breathing again. "I know, love," he whispered. "I know. Right now, we are going to go to bed and I'm going to hold you while you sleep. Then tomorrow. Tomorrow, we will get married, even though it is purely a formality. You have belonged to me and I have belonged to you since the beginning of time and long before that, even. I believe that, love, truly. Damn. I'm sorry, love. I didn't mean..."

Sherlock shook his head, as exhausted tears slid down his cheeks. "I'm okay," he whispered. "You just mean everything, John. There are some moments when it's just too much." He pressed John's palm against his own chest. They both felt it hammering out of control.

"Breathe, καρδιά μου. I'm here. Deep breath, there. I have you, just lean on me, time for bed, yeah?" John led Sherlock to their room, undressed them both and helped Sherlock to slide under the covers. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow. John crawled in next to him and pulled Sherlock into his arms. "I'm here, love. I'm here."

 

Can you have someone pick up our suits? - JW

Of course. I suppose you know? - MH

Yes, Sherlock told me, he wasn't going to, but I made him. We've survived worse, we'll get through this. - JW

Quite. I hope you have recovered? - MH

Yes, just needed to rest, Sherlock took very good care of me. - JW

I never thought he would become someone who could do that. -MH

Yeah, took a bit of training. - JW

I'm sure. You are very good for him, John. - MH

As he is for me. Thank you, Mycroft. Perhaps you could have the suits left with Mrs. Hudson. He is finally sleeping again. - JW

Of course. - MH

 

Donovan and Andy wandered all over London peering into windows, browsing through book stalls, scarf shoppes ("Who knew there were such things?" mused Donovan.) and knickknack holes in the wall, until they came across an antique shop that specialised in Victorian oddities, including a beautiful magnifying glass and a doctor's bag, in nearly pristine condition. "Oh, Al- I know it's ridiculous, but there is something about them. That's it, don't you think?"

Andy nodded and smiled at the joy in her face. Something in him finally accepted that he was part of her happiness, and he answered, "perfect, love. Absolutely perfect." And she knew he wasn't only referring to the gifts. She lifted his hand to her lips and no more words were needed.


	25. Holding On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How can you be sure?”  
> “Well, because we’re together, hand in hand, in love."  
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

"I waited for you here. Every day that entire summer." Sherlock didn't look up at John. Couldn't look at him. It hadn't been John's fault, he knew that. He had always known. But that didn't change the fact that at seven years old he had quite thoroughly learned what heartbreak was.

Instead, he studied the way his right hand was entwined with John's left hand. The way they fit perfectly; long, slender musician's fingers knit together with smaller, strong, perfect for doctoring and protecting and blogging and tea making, fingers. His pale skin against John's more golden tones. The contrast between John's habitually clean and perfectly blunt nails and his own, which were often jagged from nervous biting (on the occasion nicotine in any form was not an option) and frequently stained by chemicals. He found himself in awe of the way his fingers rested so precisely between John's knuckles, and the way John's thumb seemed to instinctively rub soothing patterns over his own first metacarpal, trapezium, and...

"Sherlock?" With a gentle squeeze of his hand, John brought him back from his contemplation.

"Scaphoid..." Sherlock mumbled and he glanced up only just enough to see John watching him intently.

John squinted at him, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Are you naming the bones of my hand?"

"Hmm. No," he released John's hand only so he could then take it with both of his hands and pull it nearer to himself. "I was naming the bones of my hand."

"Ah," John chuckled. "Sherlock, I..."

"We were children, John. Your family suffered a tragedy." He turned to face John, his heart, his other half. His thoughts stuttered to a halt at the sight of John, his John, swinging his legs over the edge of the large rock just as he had when they were children. The blinding oranges and yellows of the sun setting over the beach cast the illusion that his silver-blond hair was the dazzling sun bleached white-blond of his youth. His eyes were that shade just beyond indigo, the one Sherlock was certain no one had named because it was unique to John. John blue. Sherlock's favorite color.

Overcome, he looked away once more, down to John’s hand still held in his. He traced the lines and scars with feather light touches.

"Sherlock." John brushed the hair back from his brow with his other hand, and placing his hand along Sherlock's jaw, gently turned his face up to look at him. "It was terrible. Being separated. But it's more terrible to waste time thinking about what could have been. We found each other exactly when we needed to. The parts that were broken have healed back stronger, and with the bits that seemed unsalvageable we've created a mosaic, a fusion of the two of us. And it's perfect."

"John." With a shuddering breath Sherlock rested his forehead against John's. "John," he whispered.

"You know, I hope you're satisfied, sitting there, with your eyes the color of the sea after a storm, your face all radiant and your damn perfect hair reflecting the golden sunlight like some sort of Adonis. That was the best part of my vows, and now I've got nothing to say tomorrow." He sighed dramatically, though he was grinning.

"Just as well. More time for me."

"Bastard," John laughed.

"And we can get to the..." He leaned in and kissed John deeply. "...sooner."

"All right," John whispered.

"All right," Sherlock smiled.

John blinked rapidly and it took him a moment to adjust to the pale mid-afternoon sunlight shining through gaps in the curtains. "Damn." He closed his eyes to recall the dream and Sherlock stirred and mumbled into his chest. "Shh, love. I'm here." He flexed the fingers of his right hand against Sherlock’s scalp and hummed. Sherlock's left arm instinctively tightened around John's back, and John entwined the fingers of their other hands together. He pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head. "I've got you, love."

 

* _Once I was seven years old my momma told me_  
_Go make yourself some friends or you'll be lonely_  
_Once I was seven years old_  
_It was a big big world, but we thought we were bigger_  
_Pushing each other to the limits, we were learning quicker_

 

* * *

 

"After Sally's little press conference, the initial threat of press interference seems past, but tomorrow will be another matter entirely." Mycroft paced the study, the slight hitch in his gait adding to his frustration.

"The married ones are on constant surveillance for the next thirty-six hours, we've doubled security at the registry, we saw in person the security measures Mrs. Turner is taking..." Greg huffed a laugh. The code names were still a bit difficult to acclimate to. "And you and I will be with them from the moment they step onto Baker Street. With the exception of commissioning heat seeking drones, you have taken every precaution."

"Drones," Mycroft paused his pacing hummed thoughtfully.

"Joking. That was a joke, Myc."

"Drones would be effective."

Greg sighed. "If you authorize it, leave my name off."

"Very well."

"Ring me if you need anything else."

"Thank you, Gregory." Mycroft disconnected the call and dropped into his favorite chair. Violet was waiting with a tumbler of a particularly fine vintage brandy.

"If those arseholes think they are going to disrupt..."

"Myc, love, take a breath." Violet stood behind his chair and worked at the tension in his shoulders.

"I'll not let his day be ruined Vi. I won't allow it."

"God. Do you have any idea how sexy that is?" Violet's voice was a low growl in his ear.

Mycroft coughed and sputtered. "Pardon?"

"You, ready to burn the world down. You have no idea..."

"I..."

"I've seen you stand toe to toe with the most loathsome heads of state. I've seen you diffuse wars, and even avoid a doomsday protocol twice. But this," she moved around to stand in front of him, her eyes flashing that brilliant green, "knowing that what's driving you right now is nothing but devotion to someone you love. Damn, Myc."

He looked down at his glass and didn't remember finishing it. Violet poured him another. "I've failed him too many times. I won't again, especially not in this."

"I believe you. Now, you just need to finish your drink and calm down. Tomorrow will be perfect."

"How? How do I..."

Violet took his hand in hers and pulled him from the chair. "I might have a few ideas."

 

* * *

 

_Did you get called in to work? -GL_

_No, just running an errand for Myc. -MH_

_It's not to do with drones is it? -GL_

_What? No! -MH_

_Oh good. Forget I mentioned it. -GL_

_Okayyyy. I was just picking up the suits for Sherlock. -MH_

_Oh yes! -GL_

_And dropping them off to Mrs. Hudson. For safe keeping. -MH_

_NO! Traitor! Please tell me you kept mine back? -GL_

_Do you have any idea what Sherlock would do to you if something happened to that suit before tomorrow? -MH_

_Do you have any idea what I want to do to you while I'm in that suit? -GL_

_Oh my god. That. That is why you don't have nice things. -MH_

_Hey! -GL_

_You're thinking about it, aren't you? -GL_

_I hate you. -MH_

_You don't. -GL_

_Damn you. -MH_

_I love you too, Romilly Leonora Hooper. -GL_

_Fuck. -MH_

_Yes, that is on the suit priority list. -GL_

_Are you at home right now? -MH_

_I will be by the time you get there. -GL_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"7 Years," by Lukas Graham


	26. Nearly...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Existence was really very simple when you did what you were told.”  
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Mycroft began to protest but stopped when he saw the look in her eyes. 

"First, you are going to finish that brandy; then I am going to run you a bath - shhhh"; her lips grazed his, promising him so much more. His breath caught as he heard himself moan against them. No one had ever made him lose the need to control his environment as she could. He found all that mattered was the immediate space between them. The few centimeters were too much, it may as well have been miles. He captured her lips for a long moment then pulled back, muttering with a slight smirk at her own blip of discomfiture."You will join me, of course."

"Of course, love." She whispered against his shoulder and he wondered how on earth he had managed to live without her like this for so many years.

"No." She shook her head. "We weren't ready yet. It took almost losing each other..."

"I know, Vi. I know, but I feel as if I finally understand what it means -"

"Shh...drink up, then bath, then bed."

"Yes, love."

 

"Where are you?" Molly slipped out of her shoes and dumped her bag and keys on the table.

"In here -" Greg answered. She could hear the water running, so she began undressing.

"Wait. I want to watch - slow down." He came into the hallway wearing one of her bright silky robes.

"What are you wearing - oh god, it doesn't matter. Take it off immediately."

He bit his lip, and she raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him. He was never shy, he carried himself in that way that attractive men do, perhaps it was her command that he remove the robe did something to the normally confident man that stood before her, or the fact that she was still fully dressed save for her socks, that she had just pulled off.

"Take it off." She repeated, but in a soft, wispy voice.

"Molly -"

"Greg - do you know what I was thinking about the entire drive home? You, out of that beautiful suit, standing there in front of me, without a single stitch of clothing on....take it off, love."

He untied the belt that held the robe closed, then let it fall from his shoulders. She sighed and pulled her t-shirt and camisole over her head, then grinned as she heard his breath stutter, and moaned as she felt his hands rest on her hips. She opened her eyes and saw something in his eyes that made her blink at him. "Greg? What is it?"

"I, uhm, I don't know. I just realised today, how much I'd lose if something happened to you. I didn't know, didn't understand until this moment what it meant to love someone the way I love you." He knelt before her and she placed her hands on his face.

"Nothing. Nothing is going to happen to me -"

"You can't promise me that." He mumbled quietly.

"Look at me, Greg."

He raised his eyes to meet hers and shook his head. "I'm afraid. For the first time. Afraid because I love someone more than I can put into words. I don't know what to do, Molly."

She moved her hands from his face and stepped out of her skirt and pants.

"I'm here, right now. Before you, wanting you, needing you. And we should check the bath before it floods the -"

He stood and took her hands in his, kissing them softly before walking her into the loo, and closing the door.

 

Donovan placed the bag of beautifully wrapped presents on the table and felt his arms slide around her, his lips pressed into her hair and she leaned back against him.

"Take me to bed. Now." She whispered into his ear.

He kissed her neck as he began unbuttoning her grey silk shirt in response.

"Al."

"Sally. God, love. I -"

"Yeah. I know. Bed."

 

Sherlock was standing at the window. It had grown dark, and John stretched and sat up, trying to determine if he was actually awake, or if he was once again in that in between place.

"Let's go for a walk. Bluebell hasn't been out much, and I'm a bit peckish."

John got out of bed and stood behind him, almost afraid to touch the man in front of him, as if he would crumble into ash somehow.

"I'm real, John, I promise." Sherlock muttered with a smirk as he turned around, and placed a large hand carefully against John's jaw. "All too real, love, some days, I wonder..."

"No. Don't. Please? Never wonder at the fact that I love you, every single bit of you."

Sherlock found his breath again and whispered. "Dim Sum?"

"Perfect."


	27. Finding Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Prince Humperdinck took her hand and held it high and the crowd cheered. 'That's enough, mustn't risk overexposure,' the Prince said, and he started back in toward the castle.  
> "'They have waited, some of them, so long,' Buttercup answered. 'I would like to walk among them.'"  
> -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

Sometime while they were sleeping it had rained. Sherlock's hopes had been for a quiet, contemplative even, walk. His hand in John's, Bluebell dutifully circling around them, the only sounds being distant traffic and the soles of their shoes on the wet pavement. 

But it was early evening on a Friday night in central London. After the rain, the air was brisk and the night sky was clear. It was gorgeous. Quiet was apparently out of the question. They stepped out onto Baker Street, and Sherlock had to fight the urge to turn John around and usher him right back through the door.

"Right. What's the matter?" John peered up at him after pulling the door closed. He switched Bluebell's leash to his other hand so he could entwine their fingers together.

"I wasn't expecting..." He glanced quickly up and down the street, and John followed his gaze.

Raising his eyebrows, John chuckled. "People? Sherlock, there are always people." A cabbie who was all too familiar with their habits pulled up along side them, but John waved him on with a smile.

"What if..."

"The press shows up? Who the hell cares what those fuckwit bastards do?" A mother passing with two small children scowled at him. He mumbled an almost sincere apology and Sherlock snorted.

"You, for one." Squeezing John's hand, Sherlock grinned.

"True. But if they do, at least they'll get a shot of us, yeah? Together. Not some made up shite." He turned them in the direction of the park and started walking at a leisurely pace. Sherlock fell easily into step next to him. "All right?"

Sherlock hummed contentedly as his shoulder brushed against John's. He was busy watching Bluebell alternate between staying protectively close and cheerfully greeting everyone they passed -- wondering about her deduction process, and how he could go about experimenting with that -- when John stopped walking and tugged his hand. "John?" He watched intently as John seemed to be captivated by something.

"We're always in such a rush. Everything is always an emergency for us here. I don't know when the last time was that I actually just... saw London. Just experienced it." He was watching the people flow past them and across a busy intersection. "Look at the movement. And listen... It's living and breathing. The city is alive."

"Horrid, isn't it?" Sherlock scrunched his face in disdain. "All these people. We're outside and I feel claustrophobic. Awful."

"It's not!" John laughed. "We're used to seeing the worst, to seeing the darkness and filth here. But it's not all bad. Just look, really look."

And look he did, though his eyes landed only on John illuminated by the flicker of the harsh streetlamps and the colorful lights from the traffic and the business displays. The unnatural glow bathed him in an otherworldly, shadowy beauty. He was wearing the indigo shirt from Greece (he'd talked Sherlock into wearing his byzantium colored one) that highlighted his eyes so brilliantly. Every other person around them fell away from his awareness. John turned his face up toward him and grinned his little lopsided grin.

"Not at me, git, look at the city." John laughed, even as a fresh surge of people grumbled at them for standing still in the middle of pedestrian traffic.

"It was never the city itself that held the appeal for me. First, it was the pursuit of knowledge. Then access to drugs. Puzzles to solve and resources to use after that. And then, you." He wrapped his hand around the back of John's neck. "Now I don't need any of those other things, much less the city. It's too much motion, too much distraction, too much.... Just too much. Just you. You, John Watson, are my peace, you ground me, you are my home. The city can burn for all I care. I honestly cannot..."

A chorus of "hey," "oi watch it," "get a room," and few more unpleasant offerings rang out as the traffic signals changed and the mass of harried people were forced to endure John pulling Sherlock down into a deep, lingering kiss. Bluebell proudly stood sentry after only tangling her leash around their legs once.

A blinding flash broke them apart. Breathless, Sherlock dropped his forehead to John's shoulder with a groan, and John glanced around and huffed. He whispered in Sherlock's ear, "Damn kids. Just two teenage girls with a mobile. That's all, love." He placed a gentle kiss on Sherlock's hair and the girls giggled.

"Cute dog," one of the girls managed, and they dashed away still giggling.

"Why aren't they at home with their parents? Isn't it late? See John? I was right. Awful..."

John managed to get them both out of Bluebell's tangled leash, and a cheer arose from the crowd when he grabbed Sherlock's hand once more and pulled him across the street as soon as the next signal changed.

"C'mon, καρδιά μου. I want to show you something." He bypassed the first entrance to the park. Both Sherlock and Bluebell gave him perplexed looks. "Trust me." He rolled his eyes. "Both of you." Bluebell huffed in response.

They'd gone a few more blocks, and Sherlock was breathing easier. The number of people milling about had thinned out dramatically. The traffic was still heavy, but easier to bear. They stopped in front of a restaurant Sherlock had never been to. "John?"

"I know you can't handle people right now. Just, stay here with Bluebell, for just a few minutes. I'll be right back, okay?" John waited for Sherlock's reluctant nod before he swung the glass door open. A tinny bell signaled his arrival and Sherlock watched with a fond smile as John cheerfully interacted with the man behind the counter. A few moments later he returned with a laden bag.

"They do dim sum all right. Our other place is better, but I think you'll like it." John carried the food in one hand and took Sherlock's hand with his other.

"How did you know about this place?"

John sniffed. He led them across the street to the park before he answered. "After, ah... While you were gone..." Sherlock squeezed his hand reassuringly. "I couldn't go back to our old place. I found this one when I was out wandering aimlessly one day."

Sherlock glanced over and saw an injured look in John's eyes; it lasted barely a moment, but he saw it all the same. He released John's hand, pulled him closer to his side with his arm around his waist, and kissed his forehead.

They walked in companionable silence, Bluebell leading them on, until they came to a lone park bench. It wasn't as near a path light as some of the others. John nodded and Sherlock shared another look with Bluebell. "That's really not fair, you two." John laughed.

"Oh please," Sherlock chuckled as they sat. Bluebell situated herself so she was between their feet, but leaning against John. "She just recognizes that the one thing she and I have in common is our need for you. In a disaster, she would definitely eat me first."

"That's... disturbing." John snorted. "Discussed it, have you?"

"We have an agreement."

"Oh god." John handed Sherlock a carton of food then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Do I want to know?"

"It's simple. We keep you alive." Sherlock took a bite of dumpling. "Mhmmm." He dropped a piece down to Bluebell. "Not bad."

"You're ridiculous. Good thing my plan is to keep you both safe. And don't give her that rich stuff." John rolled his eyes.

"Really. You picked him?" Sherlock asked Bluebell as he dropped her another bite. She snatched the food but inched closer to John. Sherlock sighed in defeat.

"Here..." John held out a bite on his chopsticks for Sherlock.

"That. What is that? Trade me."

"No. This is mine."

"I didn't get to pick."

John sighed and held out another bite. Sherlock took it with a grin. They took turns feeding each other, a lesson in dexterity with chopsticks, until they were giggling like boys and content. Sherlock reached for one of the fortune cookies, and John grabbed his hand.

"Wait. Just... There's a reason I wanted to come here." John dumped everything but the fortune cookies back in the bag and tossed into the nearby bin. Tucking his left leg under him, he turned to face Sherlock. "Can I show you how I reconnected to London after I was shot?"

With a furrowed brow, Sherlock studied John face. "You love London."

"I use to, when I was a student. And I do now. But when I first came back, I didn't it. It was too big, too loud, too crowded. It didn't help that most of the firefights we saw were in cities. So, any place a person could hide, skips, alleys, doorways... hell, even windows, had me on edge."

Sherlock held John's hand. "How did you get past all that?"

"Close your eyes."

"John."

"I'm serious." John waited for Sherlock to close his. "I walked in the park. Any park. Wide open spaces, but I could still hear the city around me. And I could slowly acclimate to people being around. Just listen." John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and Sherlock relaxed into the touch.

"What do you hear?"

Sherlock pursed his lips. "Traffic."

"Okay. What else."

"Noise."

"Sherlock, c'mon. You always tell me that I look but I don't see. Really listen."

Exhaling deeply, Sherlock squeezed John's hand. "Okay, fine. I hear..." He listened in earnest. "Music. Two types. Guitar nearby, and something... latin... in the distance."

"Good."

"People talking. Laughter. Dogs, several... five breeds."

"Wow. Brilliant." John whispered.

"I can hear the wind in the trees..."

John didn't respond verbally, only with his fingers in Sherlock's hair.

"You..." Sherlock breathed. "I can hear you." He started to turn his head.

"No, love. Keep 'em closed." John whispered. "When I came back, I learned to listen to the city from a distance first. And then, one night when I couldn't sleep, I went for a walk. I learned that even in the city, when I felt like a ghost, like a shell of some past life, I could see things that reminded me of those times I did feel alive." He adjusted the tilt of Sherlock's head just slightly, and said softly, "Open 'em now, καρδιά μου."

Sherlock gasped and blinked rapidly a few times before forcing his eyes to stay open. They weren't as brilliant as they had been out over the dark beach, but there were stars. Innumerable. And he could make out... "Ursa Major." He mumbled and traced it with the index finger of his free hand. "John..." He pulled John's hand to his lips, and kissed their entwined fingers, though he didn't dare look away from the stars.

"When I found the stars...." John's voice was soft, and Sherlock had to strain to listen. "I could imagine I was back with my mates in my unit under the immense desert sky. Or, I could be laying on the beach next to my William." He drew a shuddering breath, and Sherlock turned to fully face him.

"Oh, John." He gently wiped the tears away, and cupped John’s face in his hands. His own breath caught at the galaxies he saw reflected in John's eyes, the depths of love he'd never known existed.

"After I learned to listen, and after I learned to see..." John leaned into Sherlock's touch. "I found you."

"I need to write London a thank you note." Sherlock murmered. John giggled, but it was cut short by Sherlock's kiss. "And people think I'm the genius." John blushed under Sherlock’s gaze, and Sherlock kissed his forehead.

"Turns out I don't need a fortune cookie after all." John took one of Sherlock's hands in both of his. "It's all right here."

"What? What is...." Sherlock leaned to peer down at his own hand.

John traced the lines with feather light caresses. "My future. My heart... It's all right..." He kissed Sherlock's palm. And a second time. "Here." A third kiss.

"John... I," Sherlock shook his head. "I don't know. I just need to hold you. Can we..."

"Home?"

"Please?"

John held tight to his hand and took Bluebell's leash. "This way. Less people, and we'll exit closer to home." Sherlock nodded.

"Look there," John nodded to a point in the distance. "The guitar you heard."

A busker had set up near the entrance to the park. He was just finishing a song when Sherlock dropped a few bills and the fortune cookies in his case. John huffed a laugh and the young man shrugged.

"Ta."

"No, thank you." Sherlock inclined his head to him, and started to walk away.

"Play you gents a song?" He started strumming a melody John recognized, but John's focus was on the grip Sherlock had on his hand.

"Just passing through." John smiled and they stepped out toward Baker Street.

 

 _*Strangers waiting_  
_Up and down the boulevard_  
_Their shadows searching in the night_  
_Streetlight people_  
_Living just to find emotion_  
_Hiding somewhere in the night_

 _Don't stop believin'_  
_Hold on to the feelin'_  
_Streetlights, people_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Don't Stop Believing," by Journey


	28. Something...Someone New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It appears to me as if we're doomed, then," Buttercup said.  
> Westley looked at her. "Doomed, madam?"  
> "To be together. Until one of us dies."  
> "I've done that already, and I haven't the slightest intention of ever doing it again," Westley said.
> 
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

The morning promised a beautiful day for the wedding. Sherlock had walked Bluebell through the park, let her chase the ducks for a bit as he drank a coffee, then headed to John's favourite bakery for a few goodies. He knew John would eat, but the thought of food made him a little queasy, maybe a bit of toast with fig preserves would be enough. He was running through his plans for the rest of the morning, he wanted to Skype with the boys and Ioanna and Andreas, and make sure that everything was perfec - Bluebell stopped short a few meters from their door, then carefully approached a tall willowy figure; blonde, blue eyes. She bent down and offered Bluebell a sniff of her hand, then stood up and smiled at Sherlock. "Sorry, I know it's a bit early, but Mandy and I got in later than we had hoped last night and I wanted to see Johnny for a bit before the big do. Damn. He didn't tell you. What is it about guys that have a hard time admitting when it's a broad who saved their arse? Even Johnny...sure, yeah, he pulled my sorry arse out of the fire a couple of times, but damn." She laughed and offered him her hand. "I'm Murray, Billie, though I went by -"

"Bill. You're Bill." He shifted the bag to his hip, took her hand and gripped it tightly, before releasing it.

"And you, you lucky berk, are Sherlock. Damn. You - you're William, aren't you - shit - always sticking my foot in it. Let me take that bag, before you drop it?"

Sherlock handed her the bag and tightened his grip on Bluebell's lead, then opened the door and led her upstairs. He released Bluebell, then took the bag from her hands.

"Do ya mind if I wake him up? I, it's been years and I - ya know -"

Sherlock didn't know, but he nodded and went about making a fresh pot of tea.

 

Billie walked carefully through the hallway, catching glimpses of Johnny's life, wondering at the randomness of things. She could still remember that day she thought she had lost him the first time, like it was yesterday; she could still feel his pulse weaken, his voice grow soft and hear him mumble, 'William' before finally passing out. She pushed open the door quietly and saw him, still sleeping. He looked much the same, older, definitely a bit silver around the edges, but even asleep, she could tell there was something fundamentally different about him. He was no longer angry, the lines in his face were mostly from laughter, and he was at peace. Somehow she knew all that.

"Captain." She whispered from the doorway. "Breakfast in ten. Got a big day ahead, let's look sharp."

She smiled as he blinked at her voice then sat up. 

"Bill! When did you get here - oh, shit. You've met Sherlock, he's met you. I didn't tell him, didn't seem important that you were, are. Is he okay? Did - damn. I'm sorry I didn't tell him, that was a bit not good."

"He's a bit knocked for a loop, but I think it's mostly because I asked if he happened to be William, not because of my obvious 'not a guy' status."

"Oy. Yeah." John rubbed his face, but then grinned up at her. "Glad you could be here, Mandy with you?"

"She's at the hotel, sleeping, and I wanted some time with you and Sherlock, see what kind of guy I'm allowing you to marry."

John laughed. "Always were a right protective git, weren't ya, Bill? Let me get some clothes on, be out there in a tic, yeah? Don't tell him too many stories without me, he might change his mind about today."

Billie smiled then bit her lip and shook her head. "Nah, if he has any sense, he'll never change his mind about you." 

John reached for her hand and squeezed it, "I never really got to thank you, not in person, for getting me through it - I know everything you did to make sure I got home in more or less one piece."

"Just returning the favour, Cap'. I never would have survived that hell hole without you - you know that. Get dressed, there's tea and at least a dozen scones out there." She kissed his forehead and left the room.

 

Sherlock had managed to recover a bit of his equilibrium by the time Billie returned to the kitchen. He looked up and saw a bit of sadness in her eyes that she tried to blink away.

"You were there that day." He murmured as he poured her a cup of tea.

"Uhmhmm." She kept her eyes down and studied a dark purple spot on the kitchen table.

"You are the reason he's here."

She finally managed to meet his eyes and shook her head."No. Not really, I think you are. I was there in person, I was the one who held his hand and yelled at the damn doctors for not doing enough; but it was you, he had to get back to you. He had a reason to live through all that pain. Shit. Sorry. I shouldn't, not today."

"No, please? He doesn't really talk about it, for reasons I understand."

"That day, that day was supposed to be a day off, but we both ended up on a convoy, some snafu as usual, we weren't even supposed to be there...there was an ambush, he pushed me out of the way...they tried to tell me he was dead, that he was gone. I wouldn't let him. I broke a couple of his ribs before I could get him back, they tried to pull me off of him, but I got in the chopper with him, had to restart - before they could get him stable. Damn, Sherlock, he was seeing you, talking to you the whole time, I don't know how he did it...he was conscious, most of the time."

She paused, looked into her cup and whispered, "I've never told anyone this, but, I swear...I saw you too, heard you - you were telling him it wasn't time yet, that you needed to find him. That's why I knew who you were, besides you being famous and all; because you are still the same, just taller and older."

"I never knew." John whispered from the doorway. "You never said -"

"People already thought I was certifiable just by being over there in the first place, there was no way I was going to ask if anyone had a kid who would visit your room, then vanish...didn't know if I was losing my mind or what? So I kept my mouth shut. Luckily my time was up a few weeks after you returned home. I tried calling Harry, to find out where you were, she was her normal, lovely self. I figured you wouldn't want to see me anyway, so I just got a job, then met Mandy. She reminds me a lot of you, Sherlock, sees right through people -"

"Sorry, trying to turn that down a bit, especially for today."

"No, I love your bluntness, it's something I appreciate, most people, most people I can do without, frankly."

"I, uhm, I need to go check with Angelo, make sure things will be ready -"

"No, Sherlock, don't go. I didn't mean-"

"You haven't seen him in years, I know he wants to spend some time with you, and I do need to -"

Billie got up and kissed his forehead, then rubbed off the remains of her lipstick. "It wouldn't do for you to be caught with smudge of Crimson Blush on your face on your wedding day. You're a gem, Will - sorry, Sherlock."

He blushed a bit, then kissed John gently on the top of his head, whistled for Bluebell as he grabbed her lead, and headed for the door. Bluebell followed happily, if a bit confused; she never turned down a chance at a possible adventure.

 

"He's lovely, John. Exactly what I thought he'd be like. He loves you, the way you are supposed to be loved."

John nodded, unable to speak, lost in a jumble of place and time.

"Whoa, where did you go?" Billie touched his shoulder, then pulled back suddenly as if burned.

"No, I'm fine. Bill. Hey, shhh. I just never knew, all that, the chopper, I just remember wanting to follow William, and he wouldn't let me go with him. He made me stay with you, he needed you to keep me alive...hmmm....you remember that time, when we were lost? And then I knew, I suddenly knew where to go?"

Billie nodded, as John wiped the tears from her eyes. "I asked you how you knew, and you said you thought you saw something?"

"It was William, he got us back to base, Bill. I couldn't tell you, because you would think I was barmy."

She was quiet for a moment, then grinned up at him and nodded.

"I already knew you were, but, yeah, if you had told me that then, I would've written you up and sent you on the first plane home. Now, yeah, I'd believe it. To change the subject completely - you made some vague reference to Greece in an email recently, you got snaps?"

"Just got 'em, actually, they're on the table. You actually want to see our 'holiday snaps'?"

"Yeah, I wanna see what changed you, Cap'n Watson. You aren't the same, it's not just Sherlock, yeah, a lot of it is him, but it's more than that - a place got inside you, a good place, pushed out most of the hard edges that lived in you, I see it in your eyes, your love for him replaced all that hurt and ugliness. You have no room for that anymore. I'm so glad we both made it home so I could meet you again. Dr. Watson, I'm Billie Murray, but you can call me Bill, all of my friends do."

"Bill." He couldn't help the tears that flowed easily as she reached out for him and held him. She held him tightly until she knew he had let it go and he relaxed against her, finally recovering his breath.

"It's okay, Cap'n, you deserve to be happy. You do. Do you know that?"

He sniffed and pulled away a bit and met her eyes. "Yeah, actually, I do, Bill. Took me a long time. But, here, let me show you -" He pulled her over to the couch and found the envelope with the photos from the party. "We didn't take any snaps ourselves, didn't think about it much honestly, but these were taken during the celebration, right before we left, when we were made members of the village."

She looked at them carefully, finding John and Sherlock among all of the villagers, the boys, Ioanna... She paused then met John's eyes."That's where you two belong now, isn't it? Peace, you found it there, with him. It's on both of your faces, you look ten years younger. In love. But not that kind of love that changes, it's something in your bones, in your very chromosomes, he's part of you, the part that allowed you to be you, the very best you. Yeah. Shit. I'm exhausted, mind if I take my shoes off and crash?"

"Course not. Here, lie down. Take a nap -"

She narrowed her eyes, then shrugged and removed her shoes, then curled up in his lap. He laid his fingers in her hair and she sighed and closed her eyes. He turned on the telly, finding a recap of matches and she snorted, then fell asleep.

 

When Sherlock returned an hour later, she was looking out the window, at attention.

"John?"

"In the shower. Listen, uhm, can we talk?"

Sherlock nodded, expecting something like this. He unhooked Bluebell, gave her a treat from his pocket, then joined Billie at the window.

"You have to know I won't -"

"No. I know. It's not really that." She turned to face him, then touched his face gently. "He means so much to me. He's like my brother, a brother I love. So, thank you, thank you for loving him, for getting him home, for saving us. I don't really understand how it works, but somehow, you did all that, there is something so strong in there," She laid her palm against his chest and rested it there for a moment. "So strong that you overcame thousands of miles, and the very laws of nature to be there for him to keep him safe. I just want you to know how much I appreciate you, and I'm so happy that we get to be here today, with you and John. Far as I can tell, you've been married for years already, today is just the party for the rest of us."

"It took us a long time to get here, Bill, way too long, mostly my fault. I've hurt him so many times, anyone else..."

"He's not anyone else. But you've known that for a long time, haven't you? I see how you are with him, in just those few minutes, I knew I didn't have to kick yer arse."

Sherlock grinned shyly at her then began laughing. John came out at that moment in a t-shirt and shorts and rolled his eyes. "She's bewitched you already." He walked over to Sherlock and hugged him fiercely. "Not that there was ever any doubt."

"Alright, you two, lunch in an hour, don't say no. I'll text you the place. Mandy is dying to meet both of you, she still doesn't believe that my best friend on the planet is her favourite blogger. She also said, 'That detective chap sounds interesting, and I bet he has some tales to tell that haven't made it online.' "

They all laughed, and Bill blew them kisses on her way out the door. "She always knew how to make a grand exit." John shook his head.

Sherlock turned in John's arms and kissed him. John looked up at him curiously. "What is it, καρδιά μου?"

"I was just reminded how lucky I am -"

"How lucky we are, you mean?"

"Yes, that's what I meant." Sherlock kissed the top of John's head and began leading him in a dance that only he heard the music for, but John followed, not caring a bit as he relaxed into Sherlock's arms.

 

"Where you lead, I will follow  
Anywhere that you tell me to  
If you need, you need me to be with you  
I will follow where you lead

If you're out on the road  
Feeling lonely, and so cold  
All you have to do is call my name  
And I'll be there on the next train..."*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I Will Lead Where You Follow' Lyrics by Carole King and Toni Stern


	29. Getting Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And she is truly-without-question-no-possibility-of-error beautiful?”
> 
> “She was something of a mess when I saw her,” the Count admitted. “But the potential was overwhelming.”
> 
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Violet stretched and flexed her fingers, feeling the steady constant beat of the most magnificent heart she had ever known. The heart so frequently masked by the steely exterior, the iceman facade. The heart that she alone was allowed to see, to love, and that she now knew with certainty, loved her in return.

He shifted in his sleep and sighed against her hair. Fully at rest, his beauty was ephemeral; he looked younger, though not vulnerable, all his lines and edges softened.

Closing her eyes and easing back down along his side, Violet relaxed in the knowledge that she was mutually cherished, safe, and whole along side this exceptional man.

The alert tone from her mobile elicited a muffled groan and he wrapped his arms around her. "Leave it."

"Myc..."

"That's an order," he mumbled.

Huffing a laugh she kissed the spot over his heart. "It's the tracing software, love." He didn't have to ask what she was tracing; with a frustrated sigh he let her slip from the bed to retrieve the mobile.

"Well?" He sat up against the headboard and braced himself for the worst.

"Another photo. It's..." Mycroft couldn't read her expression, despite the fact that her lips quirked into a tiny smile. She looked almost sentimental as she passed him the phone. "I think we can probably let this one go."

"Vi, you know I will not let- oh." The fierce glint in his eyes eased and the crease in his brow smoothed out. It was a snap of Sherlock and John kissing, posted to social media, and the news sites had run with it. "When?"

"Last night." She took the mobile from him. "The sites seem to be offering congratulations for today, and there are no mentions of venue or time." Mycroft hummed as she settled in next to him. "Your brother and John, they seem..."

"Content."

"Yes."

"I'm..." Mycroft blinked rapidly and exhaled a controlled breath.

"Happy for him?"

"Yes, for them both. But more, I find I am, for lack of a better term, proud of him. It was never a matter of if he would find John again, but when. And once he did, I knew all he needed was time." He pulled her close. "I knew as soon as I saw them together as children, and now, here we are."

"Here we are." She turned his face to hers and kissed him gently.

"I never imagined..."

"You deserve to be content as well, love."

"I believe I have found my contentment." There was a hint of uncertainty in the statement.

"I believe you have as well." She kissed him more deeply than before, erasing any trace of doubt. They both groaned when his mobile signaled a text.

"Could be urgent," Violet pulled back and grinned, "best man." He snorted and rolled his eyes.

 

_Did you see it? -GL_

_We did. Seems rather innocuous. -MH_

_Agreed. We leave it? -GL_

_Yes. Unless I hear from either of them to the contrary. -MH_

_Sounds good. See you in a few hours for the final security check. Andy has agreed to be extra eyes during the ceremony. -GL_

_Very well. -MH_

_And thank you for looking out for them, Greg. -MH_

_They're my friends. Family, really. I could do nothing less. -GL_

_Indeed. -MH_

 

"Well, since you have plans with the boys..." Violet grinned mischievously at him.

"Brunch and primping are in order, are they not?" Mycroft chuckled.

"It is a high profile wedding, after all. It wouldn't do for us to show up without first being properly pampered and expertly coiffed."

"Hmmm, agreed. I do appreciate a particularly well done coiffure."

"Then primping it is."

"My treat, of course."

"Myc, you don't..."

"I want to. For you. For your... our friends. This is a momentous day."

"I wonder if they can be ready in an hour?"

Starting with her shoulder, Mycroft kissed a line up her neck and then whispered, "Perhaps two hours..."

"Ohhh, ah.... perhaps two..."

 

_Brunch and primping in two hours? Myc's treat. -VH_

_I'm in. -SD_

_Me too! -MH_

_I'll pick you up then. Dress comfortably, and bring your dresses. We'll make it a day. -VH_

* * *

 

"Full many a glorious morning have I seen,*" Greg... swished... into the bedroom once again wearing Molly's robe, and carrying a tray of tea and toast.

"Ah, we've moved to the sonnets have we?" Molly smirked. "Again with my robe? I swear, I think you just like me telling you to take it off."

"Damn, you weren't suppose to catch on so quickly." Greg cocked an eyebrow at her and placed the tray on the side table. He stood waiting patiently.

"Oh for godsake," she giggled. "Greg," she pouted playfully, "take it off."

"I don't think I like the fact that you aren't taking this seriously." Greg huffed, seeming very put upon.

Molly laughed, and then tried to sound stern. "Damn it, Greg. Take my robe off. Now, love. I want to see you before we both have to go..."

"Go? Where are you going?" He froze mid-attempt at seductively sliding the robe off one shoulder.

"Girl's day. Primping for the wedding."

"Another one?" Greg mock pouted.

"That was dress shopping, this is brunch, and nails, and hair, and makeup, and..."

"Never mind," he laughed and let the robe fall open.

"You won't even recognize me with the new dress and all done up." Molly winked at him. She grabbed his hand and tugged him toward her.

"I would recognize you if you'd put on the dress now."

"Nu-uh."

"Please, Mols." He was damn near begging.

"Now why would I put clothes on when I'm trying to get you to take clothes off?"

"Oh god. When are you leaving?" He stood and dropped the robe to the floor, and scrambled back onto the bed.

"Two hours..." She mumbled into a kiss.

* * *

"Al, what're you..." Sally pulled a long t-shirt on as she shuffled from the bedroom. "Bloody hell."

"** _You don't know you're beautiful, oh oh. That's what makes you beautiful,_ " Andy was singing. One Direction. He was definitely singing One Direction. To...

"Are you singing One Direction songs to that fern?"

"Don't judge." He stood from where he was crouched next to the plant. "Ferd and I have been together since uni. I can't help it if he's partial to pop music."

"Ferd? Short for..."

"Ferdinand. Yes." He tried not to laugh himself as he ducked away from Sally giggling and trying to hug him.

"Aw, c'mon Al."

"Not until you apologize to Ferd for laughing at him," he huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I'm not making fun. I can't keep a plant alive. Tried. They all died. I'm a little jealous of what you and Ferd have here." She smiled at him. "Especially since I thought you only sang for me."

"Oops, sorry, buddy. You've been replaced," Andy patted the fern. "No more N*Sync and Spice Girls for you. I'm saving those for my lady." He wrapped Sally tightly in his arms.

"Oh god, no. You can sing those to your plant."

"It's too late..." He grinned mischievously. He pulled her close so they could dance, and started singing.

** _If only you saw what I can see,_  
 _You'll understand why I want you so desperately,_  
 _Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe,_  
 _You don't know, oh oh,_  
 _You don't know you're beautiful, oh oh,_  
 _You don't know you're beautiful, oh oh,_  
 _That's what makes you beautiful_

"You're an arse, you know that?" She sighed, content to be wrapped in his arms, surrounded by him, and swaying to cheesy pop songs sung surprisingly well.

* * *

Sherlock was humming a piece he'd yet to begin composing.

"S'beautiful." John murmured into his chest as they swayed and turned in slow lazy circles.

There was a quick knock on the flat door before Mrs. Hudson bustled in, tutting and fawning over them. "Oh boys, my boys. Today. Oh, just look at you." She clasped her hands over her heart and sniffed and smiled and sniffed again. "I'm just so, so happy for you."

John buried his face in Sherlock's chest in order to muffle his laugh. "Oh god. I didn't account for a sentimental Hudders."

Sherlock chuckled, and held tight when John tried to step away. "Mrs. Hudson, is there something you needed?"

"Oh, not me dears. I came up to see if there's anything I can do to help you out." She was very nearly vibrating, and kept repeating _today today today_ and assorted endearments happily.

"Not right now, Mrs. Hudson. We're going out to lunch in bit, and..."

"Oh," she looked crestfallen when the task of lunch was removed from her list of possible chores.

"But we'll definitely need tea and biscuits when Myc and Greg come around to get dressed." Sherlock rolled his eyes. "They're going to be insufferable."

"I'll keep them sorted, don't you worry," Mrs. Hudson nodded, satisfied with the job. "If you need anything else, anything at all, you boys just let me know." She interrupted their dancing by hugging them both at the same time, then kissing them both on the cheek. "My boys," she sighed as she made her way down the steps.

"Are you ready for a full day of that?" John grinned up at Sherlock.

"I did not think this through, did I? We should have done it your way." Sherlock kissed John's forehead.

"God forbid we start now." John pulled Sherlock down into a proper kiss. They pulled apart when John's phone pinged. "Probably Bill," he mumbled. The first text was her pick for lunch. The second had a link to a news site.

 

_You two are fucking adorable. See ya in a bit. -BM_

_Oh god. Thanks Bill. Good choice for lunch. -JW_

John clicked on the link and his breath hitched. "Oh."

"John?"

"There's... A picture..."

"Damn. Another one?" Sherlock reached for the mobile, and realized John was staring at the photo. "How bad is- oh."

"Yeah."

"It's..."

"Us. It's us. It's us in the city. It's beautiful and perfect. And us."

Sherlock nodded his head. John set the mobile aside and pulled Sherlock into a tight embrace. "Damn kids," Sherlock smiled as he mumbled into John’s hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Sonnet 33" William Shakespeare
> 
> **"What Makes You Beautiful," by One Direction


	30. Something Borrowed, Something Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There were some things you did, no matter what, and when a friend needed help, you helped them.” 
> 
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

"Where are we going?" Sherlock sighed as their cab headed to a not so great part of London that he had known all too well, long ago.

"Hole in the wall, Bill and I used to eat there, between our first and second tours, we found this place, used to go every day, good thing we were youngish and had good metabolisms...here we are."

They pulled up to a neighborhood coffee shop, one of those places that managed to stay open by sheer stubbornness and its regulars. The waitresses always remembered faces and exactly what they had ordered in the past, it didn't matter how long ago it had been.

"Dr. John - long time, no see, give me a tic - always soup o' the day, a sandwich, two if you were hungry enough and a couple of my biscuits; the double chocolate was your favourite, and Sherlock Holmes, I'd know that face anywhere. Dr. Bill tells me today is the big day, she and Mandy are waitin' at yer table."

"Sylvia - should have known you'd still be here -" John kissed her on both cheeks.

"Yeah, my Prince Charming never quite found me to take me 'away from all of this.' " She indicated the slightly dingy interior of her establishment, well-kept, but obviously hadn't been refurbished in years. "You appear to be one of the lucky ones - " she elbowed Sherlock in the ribs. "He's one o' the best."

"Yes," Sherlock winked at her and bent down to give her a kiss. "I know, I'm very lucky."

"Ain't you a charmer? Two of your regular, Dr. John? And I just put a batch of biscuits in -"

"Just one order, Sylvia, throw some chips on the side too, please?"

"Suit yerself. " She rolled her eyes as she headed to the kitchen.

"You need to eat a little something, love," John squeezed Sherlock's hand that had suddenly found his and was holding on, as if his life depended on it. "Whoa, what is it?"

Sherlock shook his head and mumbled, "Nothing. Not right now, I don't want to ruin lunch for you and Bill, I'm fine. I'll be fine....Bill. And you must be -." He dropped John's hand and offered it to Mandy, who had stood up from the booth and was grinning at them.

"You -you are Sherlock Holmes. Mandy, Mandy Alexander. And John, the famous Dr. John. Please sit. I feel like I already know you both so well, from the blog, of course. You can't always believe the press, especially these days..." Billie narrowed her eyes at her wife and took Sherlock's hand in hers.

"Ah, coffee - thought we could all use some, it hasn't changed a bit, has it, Johnny?" Billie added three huge scoops of sugar to hers and John shook his head at her. 

"Remember when we had to have it black or not at all?" John added cream to his and stirred it carefully, trying to understand Sherlock's sudden change of mood.

"Why do you think I take so much sugar now?" Billie laughed and everyone relaxed a bit. "Do you remember..." She launched into a story involving some trash talking slightly tipsy Uni kids who wanted to have a bit of fun, on the day she and John were due to report for their return trip to the desert. John had stood up to the biggest one who had made the mistake of touching Bill. "You seemed so much bigger that day...we almost ended up in the nick, but at the last minute, some guys in black stepped in."

"Damn, I'd forgotten that -" John snorted and looked over at Sherlock, who was staring into his untouched coffee.

"Excuse me for a moment, just need a bit of air." Sherlock got up from the table and made his way outside. John began to get up, but Mandy shook her head, and put her own cup down.

"Just a bit of wedding jitters, I expect; had 'em myself, Dr. John. Nothin' to worry about. Back in a jif." She kissed Bill and followed Sherlock outside.

"Will - Sherlock. Shit. I'm sorry, I should've found a way to warn you. She doesn't know. I had been clean for years when I met her. She was a mess; she had a good job, but she was faking it, the desert did a number on her. If you can believe it, I took care of her, not the other way 'round."

"I'd believe it, 'Manda - you took care of me enough times." Sherlock muttered. "I haven't been in this neighborhood in years. He knows, but he doesn't really know. Sorry, it just came all back at once. Bill won't hear it from me, I promise, it's your business. But, I don't have secrets from John anymore. Doesn't work for us. I have to tell him -" He looked down at his feet, then shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced up at Amanda through his curls. She touched his face gently and sighed. 

"Need a trim, huh - remember when I did it for you? I was always so jealous. Me and my ridiculously straight hair, you with the fucking gorgeous curls, even on the bad days, you always were beautiful. Shit." 

She kicked an invisible rock and muttered mostly to herself. "If it matters at all, I'm really proud of you, Will - sorry, you'll always be Will. You got out from under, and you are still here, after all the garbage...that takes guts, which I always knew you had. I never missed any of John's posts, I nearly went back on the stuff when I thought you had, ya know - but Bill held me together, didn't know why I was so upset, couldn't quite tell her. I thought about getting in touch, but thought it wouldn't be appreciated. I am sorry for -"

"For what, 'Manda? We survived, that's all that matters, right? We managed, by some miracle to find brilliant people who love us in spite of everything, in spite of everything we are, or who we used to be. Forget it, yeah? No, that's the wrong word isn't it? I don't regret you, you saved my arse when I couldn't; you made me think I was worth something. Thank you for that. I'm actually a bit peckish now, if you can believe it. Let's go eat, yeah?" She managed a lopsided grin and nodded at him, and grabbed his hand.

Lunch had arrived already, and John and Billie were sitting quietly. They both began to get up when Sherlock and Mandy reached the table. Mandy shook her head, and squeezed Sherlock's hand. "Have a confession to make, Sherlock and I knew each other at Uni, it was a long time ago, and I think it was a bit of a shock to to his system. That's all."

John caught Sherlock's eye and nodded carefully; he took Sherlock's hand and kissed it. "Come on, love, chips are still hot, just the way you like them, eat a few for me?"

Sherlock slid into the booth and took a breath, popped a chip into his mouth, then regaled his rapt audience with a case that never made it to the blog involving a missing treasure, a fake heiress and a cat with a very real attitude.

"But aren't you allergic to cats, Johnny?" Bill snorted at the conclusion.

"Yeah, still am, and that cat, like every other cat fell instantly in everlasting love with me. I'm getting itchy just thinking about it."

"Your eyes are getting a bit red, love." Sherlock managed to laugh, before pulling John into a kiss that lasted perhaps a bit longer than he intended.

"Get a room, boys," Mandy giggled into her coffee.

Sherlock blushed and pulled away. "They have a jukebox, John. Need all the practice we can get." He walked over to the machine, and pushed a button, as the coin slot was blocked.

"They asked me how I knew  
My true love was true  
I of course replied  
Something here inside cannot be denied  
They said "someday you'll find all who love are blind"  
When your heart's on fire,  
You must realize, smoke gets in your eyes..."*

He walked back to the table and John was waiting for him; a bit nervous, but his eyes were smiling and calm.

"I'll try not to step on you -" John whispered as he leaned into Sherlock's embrace.

"Just close your eyes. Trust me, please?"

Something in Sherlock's voice made John tighten up a bit, but then he relaxed against him. "Of course I trust you."

They simply held onto one another until the song ended. Mandy was leaning against Bill, their fingers were entwined, and Sherlock saw in his friend's twinkling eyes that she would never tell Bill of their shared past. He nodded at her, letting her know he understood, and that they were okay.

John looked at his watch as an alarm went off. "Damn, almost late for our hair appointments, sorry we have to dash, but if the schedule gets out of whack -"

Mandy and Bill got up and gave them hugs. Mandy cleared her throat and offered Sherlock a small package. "Open it later, it should cover the 'Something borrowed, something blue..' She kissed his cheek and rubbed the pale smudge from his face. "See you tonight, yeah?"

 

"Talk to me?" John murmured as they fell into the back of the cab. "There's something that you couldn't say back there."

"'Manda, that is, Mandy, and I - we, she knew me at Uni, that is true. She was there when you were not, there were times..."

"Shhh - you don't have to, I thought it might -"

"NO. No, please, I need you to know. I hadn't thought of her in years. I honestly didn't know what had happened to her - she was, is, brilliant, even better than me at reading people, remarkable brain for maths and physics, genius with words; a beautiful poet - but she had been abused, and had turned to drugs early, she used enough just to get through, but wasn't hooked. She introduced me to pills, when I needed something - I was stressed about not fitting in; all the exams and papers. I was flying, could do anything, but then I realised I needed something to bring me down so I could focus..."

"Shit." John rubbed his face and sighed.

"She was 'more sinn'd against than sinning -'**, I needed so much, not just the drugs, she was the first friend I made - after you - no, nothing happened, I just depended on her - more than was kind. You can't tell Bill. She's clean. Has been for years. I know, I can tell." He pulled the package from his pocket and unwrapped it. "Oh, god." It was a book of poetry, with a faded blue ribbon bookmark. "She borrowed this from me, to study for a poetry exam...I - I disappeared before she could return it." He opened the book where it was marked and read aloud:

 

"Escape me?  
Never—  
Beloved!  
While I am I, and you are you,  
So long as the world contains us both,  
Me the loving and you the loth,  
While the one eludes, must the other pursue.  
My life is a fault at last, I fear:  
It seems too much like a fate, indeed!  
Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed..."***

 

"Spill it." Billie collapsed on the bed in their hotel room. "There's something, something you aren't telling me. I don't know Sherlock all that well yet, but when he saw you, it was as if he'd seen a ghost."

Mandy turned from her and stared at the beautiful park that lay outside their window. "May as well have been. I am for him. It was a mistake for me to come this weekend with you. I knew better, I think I may have just fucked things up for him -"

"Then why did you come, Mandy?" Billie asked quietly.

"I wanted to know, needed to see he was okay, to see that John really loved him. I should've known, just from what you had said about him and from what I knew of them from the blog. It was selfish - we were friends, he was the only true friend I had at Uni, he's built like I am, he 'got' me, and I repaid his understanding by getting him hooked. I had been using off and on since my teens, he needed something to get through a rough time, then he realised that he could do more - I tried to warn him - but - to make a long arse story short, we got through Uni, firsts in our chosen fields, and he vanished. And I fell apart. I had let him and myself down. It took me a few years, but I got clean and sober years before I ever laid eyes on you."

Billie blinked at her wife, then sat up and offered Mandy her hand, "Come 'ere, we have time for a nap, I think we'll need it tonight."

"You forgive me? Honestly?" Mandy shook her head. "I don't deserve -"

"Love, I knew you had a past, we all do. I am just so glad that you and Sherlock made it through. John and I wouldn't be here today without the two of you. I love you, Sweetpea. Climb up here next to me."

 

"John -?" Sherlock closed his eyes and waited, his hands resting on the ancient well-loved book.

"We are ok. More than okay, love. I know how hard that must have been for you to tell me -"

"Alright, Gents, here ya are, Congrats! I saw that snap of you two this morning - you two look good together, don't know why ya want to muck it up by gettin' hitched, 'tho - gettin' married - changed things - it changed her anyway - luck to you is all I can say."

John laughed, handed him a few pounds and grabbed Sherlock's hand. "You need a trim and a shave, love."

"I wouldn't be talking, Cap'n - how long has it been since you had that mop regulation length?"

John grinned at Sherlock, then pulled him out of the cab and into a kiss. Sherlock groaned against his lips."Are you trying to make the front page tomorrow?"

"Does he love me, I want to know  
How can I tell if he loves me so  
Is it in his eyes, oh no you'll be deceived  
Is it in his eyes, oh no he'll make believe  
If you want to know, if he loves me so  
It's in his kiss (shoop-shoop-shoop)  
That's where it is, oh yeah  
Or is it in his face, oh no it's just his charm  
In his warm embrace, oh no that's just his arm  
If you want to know, if he loves me so  
It's in his kiss (shoop-shoop-shoop)"****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * from 'Smoke Gets In Your Eyes' - Lyrics by Otto Harbach  
> ** from King Lear, Act III, scene 2, Wm Shakespeare  
> *** from 'Life in a Love' by Robert Barrett Browning  
> **** from the Shoop Shoop Song, Lyrics by Rudy Clark


	31. Another Change of Plans...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Buttercup thought for a while. 'It's not so much that there's nothing he can't do; it's more that he can do it all better than anybody else can do it.'" -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

"I'm going to need to get a new handbag while we're out." Sally smirked as she sipped at the mocha monstrosity disguised as a latte. "It sounds weird even saying this but, the only fancy clutch I have doesn't fit my..." She glanced around and lowered her voice, "...gun."

Molly giggled and Violet hummed in agreement. "You know, I don't think the one that matches my dress will work either. And that dress doesn't give me much by way of concealing... well, much of anything really."

"This is one time I don't envy you girls that bit of bad assery." Molly fished a rather simple looking pocket knife from her bag and laid it on the table.

"What is that?" Sally snorted. "Isn't that Greg's old one? What could you possibly..."

"Oh, I can think of six ways off the top of my head to incapacitate a man twice my size with that knife... Hmm, no, make that seven." Violet grinned at Molly. "You any good with it?"

"Pick a blossom on the planter over there." Molly glanced around the mostly empty patio of the café, then looked at Sally with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

"All right," Sally shrugged. She pointed and before she even lowered her hand there was the slight thud of something sticking in the far wall and the flower she'd chosen drifted gracefully to the floor. "Shit." She blinked and shook her head, speechless.

"Damn." Violet laughed. "You train somewhere?"

Molly discreetly retrieved her knife and tucked the flower in Sally's hair. "Nope. Grew up with older brothers. They were always mucking about..."

"And everything they did, you had to do better." Violet nodded in understanding.

"Played rugby with the boys 'til uni. Got my black belt months before my brother." Molly dropped her knife down in her bag. She looked up and cocked an eyebrow. "Judo and then krav maga."

Whistling low, Sally leaned forward, fascinated by these revelations. "Ever fire a gun?"

Shaking her head, Molly giggled. "No. Not much need for a pathologist to have a gun, especially when I'm always surrounded by the likes of you two, or John and Sherlock."

Violet waved at their waiter for the check. "Let's get out of here. We have some time before we have to be at the salon. I've got an idea."

* * *

"Angelo, the place looks amazing. I doubt Sherlock could've done any... damn." Greg laughed around a bite. "He was here already, wasn't he?"

"You know him well, my friend." Angelo winked as he refilled their drinks.

"Oh god, mate. This is fantastic." Andy groaned as he shoved more garlic bread in his mouth. "How the hell does Sherlock stay so thin if this is how those two eat all time?"

Mycroft rolled his eyes and dropped his napkin on the table. "You're clearly not familiar with my brother's tenuous relationship with food." Andy shook his head and let Angelo replace his empty plate with a plate of tiramisu.

Greg chuckled. "Basically, John orders. Sherlock refuses to eat..."

"And I bring extra, because Sherlock steals off John's plate when he thinks no one will notice..." Angelo traded out Greg's plates.

"Then there's usually a case, or some sort of catastrophe, and they're off on a mad dash." Greg shrugged.

"I can count on one hand the number of my dishes John has been allowed to finish." Angelo poured them each a cup of coffee.

"Well, they've got no idea what they're missing." Andy sighed contentedly. "Best meal I've had in a very long time, Angelo. Seriously."

Angelo nodded his thanks. "Now, gentleman, if you'll excuse me, I've a celebration to prepare for."

"We should be on our way as well." Mycroft stood. "A final stop by the registry office to ensure security is in order, and then to Baker Street."

Andy checked his watch. "Is there a place near that I can run in and grab a tie once we're done at the registry office?" Mycroft stared at him, aghast.

"Oh damn. Now you've done it," Greg sighed with a smirk. "I know you have to have ties."

"My best tie is black, and Sally said it's fine, but I don't want to wear black on black to a wedding. I can just grab one anywhere."

"No." Mycroft dialed his phone. "You're going to my brother's wedding. We can do better." With that he turned and strode from the restaurant. He motioned for them to follow him as he spoke quietly into his mobile.

"What... just happened?"

Greg clapped him on the shoulder. "You're about to get a lesson in Holmes 101."

* * *

Violet motioned to the attendant and the rack slid forward. "Would you look at that. Damn. I mean, wow."

"Yeah, wow. You've really got an eye for this, Molly." Sally leaned in so she could get a better view.

"That first one's pretty awful," Molly frowned.

"We'll call that one your warning shot." Violet grinned as she took the paper target down and held it out to admire it. "The recoil surprises everyone the first time."

"I didn't even hit the target my first time," Sally shook her head.

"Well, I never did hit the bullseye," Molly lamented.

"No, but that's a nice tight grouping right there." Violet pointed to four bullet holes just left of the center bullseye. "You just need practice. I know I need to spend some more time here." She started cleaning up their gear.

"I'm game. Any time. The gun range is one of my favorite places. It can be relaxing after a long day of idiots." Sally grinned. Violet nodded in agreement and checked her phone.

"All right, ladies. We smell like cordite and we've got gun oil under our nails. Let's go get ready for this wedding. We've got just enough time to make it to the salon for our primping appointment." Violet handed each of them a spent shell casing, "for a keepsake," and rolled the target up for Molly to keep. "Trust me. When Greg sees that, he'll forget all about that damn suit."

Molly blushed and giggled. "He better not."

* * *

Mycroft motioned to Lawrence and he rolled the rack of beautiful grey suit coats and vests forward. "Yes, I think so."

Their trip to the registry office had taken no time at all. The room the ceremony was to be conducted in was in order and secure. The building would be mostly empty, and the added security was already on site.

There was plenty of time to procure a proper tie... And a new suit. Even if it was off the rack.

Andy stood in the middle of the room wearing the most expensive trousers he'd ever personally had his hands on, and a white button up that was finer than any other single piece of clothing he'd ever owned. He was wearing a deep smoky amethyst tie, to compliment Sally's dress. There was talk of a matching pocket square. And new shoes.

"I cannot afford this," Andy shook his head sadly as Lawrence buttoned him into the vest.

"Perfect fit." Lawrence walked a careful circle around him, ignoring his concern.

"Kid, I told you, this is Holmes 101. You're going to Sherlock's wedding, and you're part of Mycroft's selected security. This is all part of the package." Greg leaned back in a comfortable leather chair and sipped away at the scotch Lawrence's assistant had offered.

Mycroft sighed a long suffering sigh and handed Lawrence a jacket. "This one."

"Ah, yes. Excellent choice." Lawrence nodded. "Will you be wearing it out, or shall I wrap it?"

"Uhm... We have a few hours still?" Andy looked down at his new suit and swallowed hard. "Ah..."

"Garment bag will suffice, Lawrence. He'll carry it out."

"Very well, Mr. Holmes. Come, come." Lawrence shooed Andy to the changing room.

"That's a nice thing you're doing, Myc." Greg nodded in Andy's direction.

"I owe him a great deal for the role he played at Baskerville. His sacrifice when he shot Lyons was significant. But his actions saved a lot of people. He and Sally saved John..."

"And that saved Sherlock." Greg stood and patted Mycroft's back.

Mycroft sniffed and nodded once. "And... I count him a friend." He hesitated a moment. "You as well, Greg. I hope you are aware."

"The feeling is mutual, Myc."

* * *

John carded his fingers through his hair and sighed. "God. Perfect." He'd let it get longer than it had been in a while. He held the door open for Sherlock.

"It's a bit shorter than I prefer. No, don't look at me that way. You are still my beautiful John, you just look very regulation this way." Sherlock smirked. "Cap'n."

"Bill can get away with that because I really was her captain." John reached up and ruffled Sherlock's hair. "Better, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded and held his hand out for a cab. "I trust your shave was satisfactory."

"Best shave I've ever had." John rubbed his knuckles along his jaw.

A cab pulled up, and Sherlock motioned to the driver to wait a moment. "I'll be the judge of that..."

"Wait... what... Sherlock!" John laughed as Sherlock pulled him close and kissed him. He sighed as Sherlock placed a tender kiss on his cheek, then his jaw.

Another kiss on John's jaw, because that was delightful, and Sherlock leaned in close so their cheeks touched. "Yes, perfect," he whispered in John's ear and then brushed his lips against his neck.

"Who's trying to create a scene now?" John mumbled into Sherlock's shoulder. "That was..." He put both his hands on Sherlock's shoulders, and it felt very much like he was building a barrier.

"John?"

"...very intimate, Sherlock." John wasn't scolding, he was smiling, but... He pulled back. "I liked it, but it was too much for public."

The cabbie knocked on the window and Sherlock nodded. He helped John into the car and slid in beside him, rambling off the address to the florist. He turned to John and took both of his hands in his. "I... I'm sorry, I..."

"Shhh, love. You don't have to be sorry. That was me... Uhm, do you remember last night, how the noise of the city and all the people were just too much for your senses?" John looked up at Sherlock and there was something uncertain in his eyes. Sherlock nodded, and swallowed hard. "I like your kisses. Very much." He scooted closer so he could cup Sherlock's jaw with one hand. "But this, and here..." He slid his hand down to Sherlock's neck, "these are very sensitive areas for me. And it was... a lot. A lot of sensation. I..."

"Oh." Sherlock covered John’s hand with his own. "Oh." He breathed and nodded slightly in understanding. "I won't..."

"That's not what I'm saying, love." John kissed him very gently and then took a deep breath. "But maybe it's something we can... explore... when we're at home. In private."

"Can you hurry?" Sherlock leaned forward to speak to the driver, who simply glanced back in the mirror and rolled his eyes.

"Sherlock," John laughed, and the tension that had been on his face seemed to melt. "Your brother and Greg will be there later. We have... I don't want to rush." Sherlock nodded again. "All right, love?"

"I... yes. Yes, John. I..." He squeezed John's hand. "I... thank you."

John huffed a laugh. "For what, καρδιά μου?"

"I'm not sure, just... thank you. My heart, it's..." He guided John’s hand from where it rested on his neck down to feel his racing heart. John covered his own rapidly beating heart with Sherlock's other hand.

"We're getting married in a few hours." John whispered.

"John..." Sherlock breathed. "Please, can I kiss you?" John nodded and let Sherlock pull him close. The kiss was sweet and timid. "I love you."

John smiled his lopsided smile up at him. "Forever and always."


	32. One Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Look, are you just fiddling around with me or what?"  
> "I just want you to feel you're doing well. I hate for people to die embarrassed.” 
> 
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

"Orchids, white, as we don't know what colours they will be wearing, one for Vi, Sally, Molly, Mrs. Hudson... oh we should get one for Billie and Mandy, and Harry...?" 

"Just in case, I suppose, though I doubt -"

"John, she looked healthy, she was really trying, it must have been very hard to do what she did, but she wanted you to know - call her?"

"Perhaps, not sure...white roses...yours, mine, Myc, Greg, Andy, Angelo, Mike... suppose the married ones will be there, might help them fit in a bit better."

Sherlock snorted, then rolled his eyes. And suddenly, they were on the way back to the flat already; he had something he wanted to try, but he wanted it to be a surprise... on second thought, especially not today, of all days - no. No more surprises, or secrets, and he wasn't quite sure if John would want to...

John gave the flowers to Mrs. Hudson for safe keeping and collected their suits.

"Very sharp, Capt - John, you look splendid already." Mrs. Hudson twittered at him. Some days it was almost easy to forget that she was who she was. He smiled and was on his way out the door when she stopped him. "John, I wanted to give this to the two of you before, but now is as good a time as any. Don't open now, maybe after, tonight - " She handed him an ordinary looking manila envelope. John nodded, and kissed her cheek, then went upstairs.

 

"I feel it in my fingers  
I feel it in my toes  
The love that's all around me  
And so the feeling grows

It's written on the wind  
It's everywhere I go  
So if you really love me  
Come on and let it show

You know I love you, I always will  
My mind's made up by the way that I feel  
There's no beginning, there'll be no end  
'Cause on my love you can depend..." *

 

Sherlock was singing, twirling around the room, as if dancing with someone who knew how, when John walked in the door. He watched for a moment then went into their bedroom and hung up their bags. In a few hours...no, this was just another small step for them, but why did it feel so important? Because he was sharing his love, no, their love with everyone, everyone that mattered to them. He stopped suddenly, and he knew he needed to let Sherlock know that he wanted, wanted more, more of everything. What they had was perfect, it was more than he ever thought they would have...but there were mornings when he wanted to know, what Sherlock would look like, feel like...maybe they could...

"...bath? If it makes you uncomfortable, we don't have to, but I thought, it would save time, especially if we want to have time to Skype in our suits before..."

"Yes. Please?" John should've known Sherlock would understand, would be slightly ahead as always, but waiting for him. He smiled, a bit uncertain, then reached into Sherlock's perfect curls and pulled him into a kiss, a kiss that he hoped told Sherlock all he wanted, that he couldn't say in words.

Sherlock sighed, then pulled away and looked at the man who stood before him. John blinked and glanced down at the worn spot in the rug. 

"Give me a few minutes?" Sherlock touched John's face gently, saw everything in the way John finally raised his eyes to meet his own. "It's still just us, we won't do anything you don't want to do...it's just a bath."

"Just a bath." John nodded as Sherlock went into the loo and closed the door.

 

"...You came along just like a song  
And brightened my day  
Who would of believed that you were part of a dream  
Now it all seems light years away  
And now you know I can't smile without you  
I can't smile without you  
I can't laugh and I can't sing  
I'm finding it hard to do anything  
You see I feel sad when you're sad  
I feel glad when you're glad  
If you only knew what I'm going through  
I just can't smile..." **

 

"God. Manilow, really?" John groaned as he heard Sherlock's voice over the noise of the water. After a few minutes, he heard him slip into the water, and he raised his hand to knock. "Come in, John."

He opened the door and drew in a sharp breath as he was hit with the scent of lavender and almond. The overhead light had been turned off, a couple of candles the only illumination in the room. Sherlock was covered in bubbles from his toes up to his shoulders, his hair was safely under wraps in a plastic hairnet.

"Sexy."

"Hmmm. Care to join me?" Sherlock whispered, his eyes were closed, lips gently parted, already relaxed, as if they were not getting married in a few short hours. Again, John quickly reminded himself that they had already done the hard work, the ceremony was just that, ceremonial...he quickly stripped off his clothes, keeping his eyes on Sherlock's face, then he slid into the perfectly heated water and groaned deeply as he felt Sherlock's arms pull him tightly against his chest. 

"Sherlock." It came out in a voice that he didn't recognise, warm, soft, nervous, above all, in need.

"Would you like me to wash your back?" Sherlock whispered into John's neck, before placing gentle kisses in those places that he had found just an hour ago. John's mind stopped worrying about words and meaning and anythi-

John nodded and he immediately missed the presence of Sherlock's lips along his jaw, but then his eyes rolled back and he fell forward a bit when he felt Sherlock's hands washing his shoulders, travel down his spine, and end at his hips. He held his breath as he felt the water flow over him, rinsing him clean. He blew it out again as he once again felt strong, lanky arms bring him closer.

"Do you want me to -"

"No, this is for you. Tell me, John. Tell me what you want."

John closed his eyes and mumbled, "Touch me, love, please?"

Sherlock picked up a flannel and ran it over John's chest, then lower, over his barely softening abs, stopping short of the ash blonde curls below. "Are you sure?"

John felt himself nod and he moaned as he felt Sherlock's fingers wrap around his suddenly very interested length. He leaned further back into his love's chest and realised he didn't want to move, didn't want to get dressed in the perfect, bespoke suit that fit him like a glove, he would happily stay here in Sherlock's arms for eternity...and then Sherlock's hand moved and he thought he would die, the sensations that moved through him were -

"Too much?" Sherlock's voice was in his ear and John shook his head.

"John? Please talk to me?" Sherlock sounded worried, as if he had gone too far. John could feel Sherlock's body react to his own arousal and he somehow managed to force words out.

"No, it's, just, it's been a long time, and it's -"

"What, John? It's what?"

"It's your fingers, it's you holding me, I have never been touched with such love before, and it's you."

"Is that a good thing?" Sherlock asked carefully, a touch unsure, a bit husky, somehow his voice had deepened even further.

"God - can't you tell?" John murmured, wondering how his brain still functioned enough to use language.

"Just want to be sure this is what you want." The rumble at his ear, the gentle fingers still moving, and a single kiss at the place where his shoulder met his...there was a name, a word, he knew the bones, the muscles, the tendons involved, none of it mattered, as he whispered Sherlock's name, and came in waves that he quickly lost track of. If he hadn't been tightly held in Sherlock's arms, he would have slipped under the bubbles and been content to stay there. As it was, Sherlock tightened his embrace and hummed in his ear:

 

"Spring is here (ooo-ooo-ooo)  
The sky is blue (sky is blue)  
Birds all sing (oh the birds all sing)  
Like they do (yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah)  
Today's the day (wah-hooo-oooo)  
We'll say "I do" (ooo-oooo)  
And we'll never be lonely anymore..."***

 

All John could do was laugh. Laughter that he could not recall, except possibly many years ago on a beach with his best friend, his heart, his missing half, escaped from him. He turned in Sherlock's arms and their eyes met, and John knew they had become something more, there was no longer any uncertainty, no questions left, all the remaining questions had finally been answered. 

"Can I?"

"No need, I uhm, seem to be able to -"

"Without being touched?"

"Seems so. Seems all it took was you -"

"I, god - Sherlock, can't we just stay home, never leave the flat again?"

"In a perfect world, love, in a perfect world..."

"Tonight?"

"Tonight."

 

John had thought Sherlock gorgeous in anything, he thought he had understood, but when he saw him button his coat and spin in the mirror - sparkling, that was the word, he had to remind himself to breathe. The man in front of him simply took his breath away, a cliche, he rolled his eyes and groaned at his own banality, but then thought, that's why cliches exist, because they are simple, time tested truths.

"Ready?"

"Hmm?"

"We still have time to Skype, they should all be there - John? Please tell me, you, us, we are still -"

"Yes, god, yes, καρδιά μου. I'm ready." 

 

"Sherlock!! John - oh, my boys, you are stunning - Andreas! Come, come see our boys, all dressed up."

Alex and Niko just wanted to know what desserts they were having and played them a song they had prepared, in English, they had been practicing for the time when Alex would meet the rest of the world...

 

"...Just the sound of your voice  
The light in your eyes  
We're so far away from yesterday  
Together with a wink and a smile  
We go together like a wink and a smile..."****

 

"Harry? Dammit. Please. Call me. Or come to the ceremony. Just a few friends in a courthouse, or come to the reception, it's just at Angelo's, nothing fancy - please, I want you there, I need what's left of my family to stand up for me, for us. I understand if it's asking too much. I just miss you. Okay - I - I love you - bye."

"I shouldn't have done that. Dammit."

"Breathe."

John took a deep breath and leaned against Sherlock, relaxing into his arms once again, and he knew, he knew exactly what he would say to him in three hours, twelve minutes and -

"Gents." Greg's approving whistle voice ran over his thought. "Don't you two look sharp. I'm here to whisk you away to Myc's lair, Andy is already pacing as if he's the one tying the knot, didn't want the press to waylay you, so we thought -"

"We're ready." John grabbed Sherlock's hand. "Just need to get the flowers from -"

"Already in the car."

 

Mycroft turned at their entrance and nodded his approval. "Perfect, I expected nothing less-" He paused as he took in his brother's face, and saw a tranquility, a completeness that he'd never seen there before. Sherlock didn't blink, simply answered his brother's questioning eye with a slight smile.

"Ready, brother, mine?"

"Yes, Myc, I'm more than ready." Sherlock's eyes turned toward John's and his smile turned into laughter, so full of a quiet, peaceful joy, that Mycroft had no choice but to join in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * 'Love Is All Around ' Lyrics by Reg Presley  
> ** 'Can't Smile Without You' Lyrics by Arnold, Martin and Morrow  
> *** 'Going to the Chapel' Lyrics by Jeff Barry, Ellie Greenwich and Phil Spector  
> **** 'A Wink and a Smile' Lyrics by Marc Shaiman, Ramsey Mclean


	33. I'm Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Who can know when his world is going to change? Who can tell before it happens, that every prior experience, all the years, were a preparation for... nothing... Perhaps I should have at least known something, but maybe not; who can sense revelation in the wind?" -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

“So the boys are all at Baker Street now?” Molly admired her newly polished nails, feeling the epitome of glamour. They’d had massages and facials. Manicures and pedicures. New handbags were procured for all, because if Vi had anything to say about it, and she did, Molly would be needing a clutch that fit a handgun soon enough. They’d been plucked and waxed and moisturized within an inch of their lives, and now the finishing touches were being put on hair and make-up.

“No,” Sally checked her mobile. “Andy says they’re in the… Stranger’s Room?” She cast a curious look at Violet. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Violet chuckled. “At the Diogenes Club. Myc and Greg decided the best way to give the press the slip would be to head to the ceremony from a different location altogether.”

“Smart.” Molly nodded. Her phone pinged and she heaved a frustrated sigh.

“You okay?” Sally giggled. “You look… bothered. In a not entirely appropriate way.” Violet snorted and Molly glared at them both.

“Greg. Damn that man.” She held out her mobile. “Keeps sending me pictures of him in that fucking suit.”

“Bastard,” laughed Vi. “This calls for a spot of revenge, yeah?”

“What did you have in mind?” Sally’s eyes flashed gleefully.

“He’s clearly not doing this on his own. Look… Someone’s thumb is in this shot. I bet that’s Andy. And there’s John’s reflection in that mirror.” Violet enlarged the picture.

“We can’t kill John… He’s the one getting married…” Molly bit her lip thoughtfully. “Sherlock would kill us in return.”

“Oh, as if he’s so innocent.” Sally rolled her eyes.

“I say we just wind them all up a bit.” Violet smiled apologetically at the girl trying to do up her eyes as she pulled out her own mobile. “Sorry, won’t be a moment.” She received a knowing, longsuffering smile in return. “Done.”

“What? What did you do?” Molly giggled.

Sally took Vi’s phone from her and looked at the sent message. “Oh god. You don’t mess around, do you?”

* * *

 

Five mobile phones received the photo message at the same time.

“Wait.” Mycroft cautioned. He typed in a series of codes on his mobile and waited for confirmation. “The message does seem to be legitimately from Violet, and contains one attached photograph file.” He glanced from Sherlock to John. “What exactly did you two get up to today?”

John blinked, coughed and turned several shades of crimson. “Irrelevant,” Sherlock snapped, though there was no heat behind it. He instinctively took a step, positioning himself both closer, and protectively in front of John. “Lunch with friends and a stop at the florist is hardly fodder for the gossip pages.”

“Depends on the friends…” Greg rolled his eyes.

“No. We trust them.” John recovered himself brushed past Sherlock. “Whatever this is, we’ve done nothing to attract any negative attention.”

“Maybe we should just look at it and then deal with it?” Andy waved his mobile and shrugged.

“Quite.” Mycroft agreed. They all nodded and braced themselves.

Five men opened the photo attachment at the same time. Three men each drew in a sharp breath at the same time. Mycroft sat down hard in one of the well-worn leather chairs. Andy nearly dropped his mobile. Greg swore and blushed. Sherlock scrunched his face and looked from the photo to his brother and friends in confusion. John nearly laughed his arse off.

“I wish you idiots could see your faces right now.” John laughed as he took a quick snap of Myc, Greg and Andy all staring at their mobiles.

“I don’t… What is this?” Brow furrowed, Sherlock turned to John. It was, in fact, a snap of Molly, Sally and Vi at the gun range, all wielding guns, the three of them pressed together, posed like real life Bond girls.

“This is revenge, that’s what it is.” John couldn’t stop laughing. “Greg sent Molly those damn pictures to wind her up, and the girls are striking back. Low blow, really.”

With his eyes narrowed, Sherlock studied the photo, and then the other men, all in varying, unsuccessful stages of recovering their composure. “They find this photograph arousing. Violet knew they would, and sent it in an attempt to make them uncomfortable.” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Mycroft, who cleared his throat and turned his face away. Sherlock hummed in understanding. “Well played.” He looked at John. “I think I’d like a picture of you in that suit with your gun.”

“Fuck.” John huffed. “I…”

“Oh, that can be arranged.” Greg was the first to recover a shred of his own dignity and he grinned mischievously at John.

“Oops. Finger slipped.” John glared at Greg and waved his mobile at him.

“What? What did you just do?” Greg lunged after John.

“Gregory, if you ruin either of those two suits, there will be swift and harsh retribution.” Mycroft stood and Sherlock pulled John from Greg’s reach. Mycroft looked at John. “And for godsake, John, don’t provoke him, and do not encourage Vi and the others.” He exhaled deeply.

“Too late.” John chuckled and held his phone up to Sherlock, who laughed outright.

“Ridiculous man.” Sherlock shook his head and kissed John’s forehead.

* * *

 

“Did they not get it?” Molly sounded impatient as she gathered her bags.

“Myc probably ran a security check before they opened it.” Vi rolled her eyes, and motioned for Sally and Molly to follow her.

“I can’t speak for the others, but I’m pretty sure Andy’s gonna need a minute.” Sally giggled. As if on cue, their mobiles signaled an incoming message simultaneously. “It’s from John?” Sally shook her head.

“Oh shit, Vi. I think you broke them.” Molly snorted at the snap. Greg, Myc and Andy all looked exactly as bothered and turned on as Molly had felt earlier. “Just look at them.”

“Poor guys,” Sally giggled.

“Poor nothing.” Vi smirked as she climbed into the car. “I say we let ‘em have it. What do you think girls?” Sally and Molly shared a conspiratorial look and nodded. “First things first, we need to thank John for that very useful piece of intel.”

* * *

 

“Let’s discuss something… relevant, shall we?” Mycroft cleared his throat again, and rang for refreshments. “Diversionary tactics.”

“Right.” Greg clapped John on the shoulder and sat in a chair next to Mycroft.

Sherlock sat on the couch across from them, pulled John down next to him, and tucked him closely to his side. John rolled his eyes and whispered, “Don’t wrinkle the suit.” Sherlock winked at him and John swallowed hard.

“All right boys, let’s keep it decent.” Greg’s laugh was anything but decent.

Andy pulled up an oversized ottoman and sat on it. “When are we heading out?”

Mycroft’s features softened as he watched is brother and John. He turned his attention to Andy. “You’ll head to Baker Street in one car first, to pick up the decoy…”

“Decoy?” John sat forward. When the butler offered him a tumbler of spirits, he opted for a cup of tea. He made Sherlock take one as well.

“Mrs. Hudson and the married ones.” Greg took a tumbler.

“What? They look nothing like us,” Sherlock frowned.

“Two men in morning suits and strategically placed hats and sunglasses, walking out of 221b with Mrs. Hudson on their arms? If the press is on hand, they’ll fall for it in the frenzy, at least for a bit. Andy will be there to get them to the car without incident.” Mycroft accepted a tumbler.

Nodding, Andy sipped his tea. “Should be fun.”

“Hats? Really, Myc? Is one of them going to be wearing that godawful deerstalker?” Sherlock grimaced.

“Of course not. High fashion dictates top hats are still quite appropriate for wedding wear. I’m actually surprised you opted to forgo.”

“It’s just a civil ceremony. The suits are overkill if you ask me. No need for hats,” John shook his head and looked at Sherlock. “Right? I mean, hats, right? Ridiculous.”

Sherlock studied John’s face and then looked quickly to Mycroft and nodded. “Hats.”

“No.” John cut in.

Mycroft nodded and began scrolling through his mobile. “I’ve got three hatters and one milliner on retainer. What are you thinking?” He checked the time. “Resources may be limited, but I’m sure for the right price, one of them can make something happen.”

“What? No. No hats.” John shook his head.

“Sherlock just looks made to wear a top hat, yeah?” Greg grinned at John, and received a two finger salute in return.

“And something jaunty for John,” Sherlock nodded. “With attitude.”

Mycroft hummed in agreement. “I know just who to call…”

“No, no hats. Please, love. Just let it be. Please,” John pleaded.

Sherlock sighed. “Fine. For you, John.” He nodded to Mycroft who reluctantly put his mobile away. He leaned close and whispered into John’s ear, “I’ll be needing a photo of you in a hat as well. A fedora, I think. Or a bowler… my dear Watson.”

John closed his eyes inhaled a deep, controlled breath. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” He leaned back against Sherlock and Sherlock chuckled in response. John’s phone pinged twice, and everyone scrambled to check their mobiles as well. “Sorry, boys,” John smirked as he opened the first of two attachments from Violet.

“Oh…” He breathed, and showed the picture to Sherlock, who pulled him closer. “How did she…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sherlock mumbled. It was a photograph of Sherlock kissing John’s cheek earlier that day. “Beautiful.” He pressed a kiss to John’s jaw and they both seemed lost in the moment. Andy cleared his throat, but maintained a steady stare into his cup.

“Right,” John breathed and opened the next attachment. “Aww. Oh my god.” He and Sherlock both had dopey grins. Sally, Molly and Violet were all grinning, heads together and blowing kisses at the camera. Their hair and make-up was done, and they were wearing their new dresses.

“Just… Wow.” Sherlock nodded in appreciation. He glanced up. “They clean up nice.”

“Gimme!” Greg jumped up and dove across the coffee table separating them.

John shoved the mobile down between them. “Hell no. I have explicit instructions to not show you this. I saw Molly with that gun. She’d kill me. With extreme prejudice.”

“Extreme prejudice.” Sherlock nodded in agreement.

“Dammit John!” Greg scrubbed his hand down his face. “Please? Please. That damn dress has been tormenting me. Mocking me for days.” He looked desperate. Begging.

Sherlock snapped a photo of Greg’s misery and hit send. “Oops.” John giggled madly.

“Oh, you utter bastard.” Greg collapsed back into his chair. A moment later, and Greg’s mobile pinged, followed by Andy’s and then Mycroft’s. “Oh bloody hell.” Greg opened the attachment to see Molly’s perfectly lacquered toenails peeking out of the open end of some complicated looking strappy shoes. “Damn.” Greg panted.

Andy did drop his mobile when he opened the photo from Sally to find a close up of her neck and just a portion of an intricate looking up-do, a few curls hanging down. She was wearing a delicate silver necklace. He made several aborted attempts at speaking, but just shook his head, retrieved his mobile, and continued to stare.

“Into the fray.” Mycroft mumbled as he opened Vi’s photo. Just the slightest sliver of green, no viridian, definitely viridian, fabric, emphasizing that Celtic tattoo he adored. He closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. “We retaliate, men.” Greg and Andy nodded, eyes flashing fierce.

A series of quick snaps were sent off to respective partners. A close up (to Andy’s chagrin, because Myc refused to take the picture) of Greg’s arse in the excellent trousers. Andy’s flexed bicep under the beautiful grey suit jacket. Mycroft’s fingers adjusting his perfect tie.

Molly’s knee with the lovely russet hemline, Sally’s perfectly shadowed and lined left eye, and Vi’s soft auburn curls were received in return.

“God… damn… We can’t possibly…” Andy shook his head.

“Stay strong, men. Not much longer.” Mycroft squared his shoulders and accepted a second tumbler.

Greg groaned and glared at John and Sherlock. “I hope you two are happy. This is your fault.”

“Immeasurably so,” Sherlock smirked. “Come John, let’s leave them to their misery.” He pulled John up after him. “Tell us when it’s time to go, Myc. I’ll trust you to have gathered your wits by then.” He led John by the hand to a shadowy corner of the room and wrapped his arms around him. “Dance with me?” He whispered. John nodded.

“Yes. Always. Anything. Dancing, wearing a bloody hat, anything. Anything you want, I’m yours.”

“And I am yours.” Sherlock pulled him into a gentle kiss of surrender.

John relaxed against him and began to hum softly. And then he began to sing.

 

* _But I won't hesitate_  
_No more, no more._  
_It cannot wait,_  
_I'm yours._

_Well, open up your mind and see like me,_  
_Open up your plans and damn you're free._  
_Look into your heart and you'll find love, love, love, love._ _Listen to the music of the moment, people dance and sing, we're just one big family_  
_And it's our God-forsaken right to be loved, loved, loved, loved, loved_

_So I won't hesitate_  
_No more, no more._  
_It cannot wait,_  
_I'm sure._  
_There's no need to complicate._  
_Our time is short._  
_This is our fate,_  
_I'm yours._

 

* * *

 

The selfies were initially meant to be goofy. They’d become dangerously arousing, and Vi was no longer certain her strategy was effective. The boys seemed to be matching them blow for blow. “Girls, we may have to concede defeat on this one.” She groaned as Myc’s intense gaze stared at her from her mobile screen.

“I… ha. Yeah.” Molly shook her head. Sally hadn’t said a word in ages as she sat, just staring at her mobile. All three phones received a message at the same time, and all three ladies groaned in unison.

“What fresh hell is this?” Sally whined when she noticed the message was from Greg.

“Be strong, ladies. We... We’re better than they are. We can do this.” Molly said resolutely.

“Right. Yes. C’mon then.” Vi nodded, and they all opened the attachment together. Her breath caught and she had to make a concerted effort to breathe.

“Bloody hell, I’m glad I went with the tear-proof mascara. This… Fuck. Not even the ceremony, and I’m wrecked already.” Molly giggled.

Sally sniffed. “God, just look at them.” She covered her mouth with her hand and looked up at Vi who was grinning. John and Sherlock were wrapped in each other’s arms, John had his head resting on Sherlock’s shoulder, and Sherlock had his head bent down low. It looked like they were deep in conversation.

“Greg says they’re dancing. John… John is singing.” Molly sighed.

“C’mon girls.” Violet stood. “Let’s go get those boys married.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"I'm Yours," Jason Mraz


	34. "A Little Touch of Harry in the Night..." Henry V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The sun was rising behind her now; she could feel the heat on her back, and it gave her courage.”  
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

"Harry? Dammit. Please. Call me. Or come to the ceremony. Just a few friends in a courthouse, or come to the reception, it's just at Angelo's, nothing fancy - please, I want you there, I need what's left of my family to stand up for me, for us. I understand if it's asking too much. I just miss you. Okay - I - I love you - bye."

She played and replayed the message, trying to hear it; a false note, something, anything that could give her an excuse not to go, but on each replaying, it was Johnny. Her little brother wanting her to be there. Sherlock hadn't been what she had expected; he had been kind, if wary, and he had every right to doubt her motives in showing up at the flat. He had looked worn out and worried, but Johnny sounded better than she could ever remember hearing him. He sounded safe, loved, finally content. She sighed and finally gave in, dressed in her best frock, checked her hair, added a dash of colour and found a hat and dark glasses; she could simply go to the courthouse, and catch a glimpse of him, of them, then leave...she grabbed the invite she had stuck to the fridge and hailed a cab before her courage left her.

Twenty minutes later...

"Excuse me, but are you, you have to be a Watson - Harry? Right? Sorry, didn't mean to startle you - John told me you might show and I was to keep an eye out - I'm Andy, I, uhm, worked a couple of cases with him and Sherlock, uhm, kind of - "

"How?" She removed the oversized glasses and her hat and shoved them in her bag.

"I wouldn't have had to ask you if I'd seen your eyes, definitely a Watson. Sorry, in my work I have learned, let's just say, I know faces. Let me, just, no, don't go anywhere - I need to stay here until the ceremony starts, otherwise I'd walk you in myself. John, they will be so chuffed that you showed - "Sally - yeah, Harry made it, can you come escort her in, I have a few more minutes still. Thanks, love."

"Sally?" Harry raised an eyebrow, and it erased any possible doubts whether she was John's sister. It was a Watson expression if ever there was such a critter.

"Yeah - no, don't worry, things are different -"

"Harry?" Donovan appeared at that moment and Harry blinked. Again, not what she expected. Sally shyly offered Harry her hand, and after a brief hesitation, Harry took it. "John will be so pleased you're here. No, truly; he'd hoped, but he wasn't sure if you'd received his message - he left me in charge of your corsage, if you showed, here, allow me?" Sally opened the box in her hand and pulled out a beautiful, pure white flower, their mum's favourite. Harry took a deep breath, but let Donovan pin it on. She binned the box, then offered Harry her hand again, somehow Sally understood that she needed one last push or as the case may be, pull, to make her believe she belonged there. "Come on, you still have time before it starts - Harry, you got this far, I know you have your brother's courage, if you didn't, you wouldn't be standing here. Yes?"

Harry managed to nod.

"Yes. Good. Come with me."

Donovan led her to a hallway where John was pacing, he was nervous, Harry sighed - talking through his vows, shaking his head, about to begin once again, when he looked in their direction. His eyes teared up suddenly and she was reminded of the day they left Will - Sherlock and the beach behind. He seemed to freeze, so Harry squeezed Sally's hand and nodded that she was okay, then closed the distance between them.

"You're here."

"Got your message. I didn't want to let you down again - Will - Sherlock gave you everything? I - she would have loved knowing, she did know - how much - no, Johnny, don't, love." Harry carefully held him in her arms as he leaned against her. "Hey, look at me." She pulled back a bit, and wiped a tear from his face. "If I know mum, she would probably kiss both of your cheeks, and tell you to stand up taller, and just tell you to tell him what's in your heart. But he already knows, doesn't he? This is simply a formality, the two of you have been together, always."

"You'll stay? And - sorry, will you please come to the reception after?"

"Long as I don't have to make a speech, yeah?"

John laughed then, and Harry felt her heart skip a beat, she couldn't remember the last time she had heard him truly laugh with such joy. "No, no speech, just be there? For me? For us? Please, Harry?"

"How can I say no?" Harry grinned a lopsided grin at him and saw Sherlock coming towards them. She shook her head; he was so different from the exhausted figure from just a couple of days ago. He was radiant, and the smile he offered her was nothing short of brilliant.

"Harry! I had heard you were here - you have no idea how much this means to us." He kissed her cheeks, offered her his arm, then glanced back at John. "Don't you dare go anywhere, John Watson. I'll be right back." John nodded and went back to pacing.

"Thank you, Harry. This is the best wedding present you could have given him. I know what it took for you to be here, and to show up at the flat that day, I am certain it helped him get better, knowing that you were strong enough to do that for us. I'm going to leave you with Sally - Donovan? I'm leaving Harry with you - she'll ride with you to Angelo's after." And with a smile and a nod, he turned on his heel and went to collect John.


	35. I Think I Wanna Marry You...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "King Lotharon and Queen Bella arrived at the wedding chapel in time to see Count Rugen leading the four guards in a charge down the corridor. 'Are we too early?' Queen Bella said, as they entered the wedding chapel and found Buttercup and Humperdinck and the Archdean." -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

They were all so changed, so different, better. Yes, they were all so much better than they had been the first time he’d met Sherlock Holmes and John Watson. He knew, deep in his gut, in his heart of hearts, he understood. If Sherlock had turned him away that morning, he’d have been dead within days. He knew. Even though Sherlock had been an arse and not taken him seriously at first, Henry Knight knew the only hope he’d had for survival were the residents of 221b Baker Street.

And those two. God, they were a mess back then weren’t they? Almost as much as Henry himself. While Sherlock had sorted out Henry’s mystery and John had dispatched the notorious hound, they’d had to return to a London where a more sinister force waited for them.

It should have destroyed them, the showdown with Moriarty. Sherlock had died, for godsake. He’d tried to reach out to John a few times while Sherlock was gone, but it seemed to Henry that John had died that day too.

But now, now…

“Henry? Love?” Louise eased the card from his fidgeting fingers and smoothed the edges of the envelope. “What’s wrong, Henry?” Louise kept her voice low.

“What?” Henry seemed startled by the question. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m just thinking. So much has changed since… I mean…” He pulled her into an embrace, and she sighed as he wrinkled the card once more.

“I know, love.”

“And yet, seeing them together at the house. After all the heartache and darkness.” Henry shook his head. “It was there all along. I didn’t see it all those years ago, but it was there. Looking back, it’s so obvious. They’ve had to work so hard to get here. Too hard.”

Louise pulled Henry down into a kiss. “It’s been my experience that anything worth having is worth fighting for.”

“A cliché sentiment if ever I’ve heard one.” Sherlock chuckled from behind them.

"Though still true,” John grinned and elbowed Sherlock. “Git.” He shook his head fondly. “Louise,” he held out his arms and she hugged him and kissed his cheek.

Henry held out his hand. “Sherlock, congrat-“

Sherlock pulled him into a hug. “We’re so happy you could come. How are the twins?”

“They’re fine.” Louise smiled and shoved Henry out of the way so she could hug Sherlock. “Devastated they couldn’t come and see Bluebell.”

“They’re still enamored with your dog, mate.” Henry shrugged and John chuckled as he hugged him. “We won’t keep you,” Henry stepped back and nodded toward the room where the ceremony was set to happen. “But, we wanted to congratulate you. To tell you how happy we are. And…”

Louise took John and Sherlock both by the hand. “And I wanted to tell you – this might sound crazy – but I dreamed of you. Here. Not… here,” She glanced around them quickly, “but here. Together. Two hearts made one. Across time.” She blushed. “I… I have dreams. It’s… people think it’s…”

“We’ve had the same sorts of dreams.” John squeezed her hand.

“Quite vividly, actually. It’s… logic defying.” Sherlock smiled and kissed her on the cheek.

“I knew it. I knew.” Louise pulled them into an awkward hug. “I told Henry, I told him you would understand.”

Henry shrugged. “What do I know?

Sherlock laughed. “And I don’t think I will ever really understand.” He leaned closer to John, and John took his hand, entwining their fingers. “I only know that John,” He brought their hands to his lips and kissed John’s knuckles, “is my soulmate, my heart, my other half…”

“Forever and always,” John whispered.

“Perhaps we should let them…” Henry cleared his throat and tugged at Louise’s hand.

“Right. Of course. Oh…” She smiled at them and kissed them each on the cheek once more.

 

* _Don't go changing to try and please me_  
_You never let me down before_  
_Don't imagine you're too familiar_  
_And I don't see you anymore_

 

Harry sighed and gripped the handles of her bag. This was a mistake. She closed her eyes, took a controlled breath, and listened. She just listened. There were preparations still happening. Laughter. Happy chatter. Exclamations of joy and congratulations.

This was a celebration. Her Johnny… No, she hadn’t really ever been able to lay any sort of claim to him. He was strong willed and independent as far back as she could remember. He’d always been the one who made the effort, for her sake. He’d tried to keep some sort of semblance of family, and she’d abandoned him.

She should have taken care of him when mum had died, instead he’d been forced to grow up too quickly. She shouldn’t have blamed him when papa died while he was in Afghanistan – she’d said words that could never be taken back, words that had cut them both too deeply. When he’d almost died, she’d been distant at best, only contacting him once he was back in London. And when Sherlock jumped, well, there wasn’t much she remembered about her own life from those years, so she felt very certain she hadn’t been any kind of support for John then either.

She felt a tear slip down her cheek as she listened to Sally, Molly, and was it… Violet?... talk about her brother with such love. This was his family now. These people who were strangers to her. He’d tried to include her, tried to tell her about them, and she hadn’t, couldn’t… She sniffed again and sighed. She asked Sally where the loo was, and thought she could just slip out unnoticed.

Harry stepped into the hall, took a shuddering breath, wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, and jumped when someone waved a handkerchief in front of her face. “Shit,” she gasped and turned to find herself face-to-face with a man she had never met, but she recognized right away as a Holmes.

“Ms. Watson, I presume.” Mycroft bowed slightly. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Sherlock’s older brother, Mycroft Holmes.” He held out his hand to her, and Harry chewed on her lower lip, uncertainty clouding her eyes. Ah, yes. Definitely John’s sister.

“Mr. Holmes.” Harry gingerly took his hand.

“Mycroft, please.” He smiled, even as he searched her face with those piercing, assessing eyes. “May I call you Harry? We are family after all, or, will be within the hour.” She blinked at him in disbelief, but nodded.

“Yeah, Harry is fine.” She squinted up at him, and then looked away quickly. He definitely knew she was planning on running.

“I look forward to getting to know you.”

Harry snorted. “I’m sorry, but no one is anxious to spend time with me.” They stood in silence a few moments, Harry twisting Mycroft’s ridiculously expensive handkerchief into a knot.

“John is… I have long counted him my friend. And now he is my brother.” He nodded. “I have failed my own brother more times than I care to enumerate, and that is something that will take time to correct. But we have repaired our relationship, and I will not fail him again. Just as I will not fail John.” He tapped his cane twice on the marble floor as he considered his words. “So I will ask you this once. For John, my friend and my brother. Will you please stay?”

Harry nodded once as another tear slipped down her cheek. Mycroft took her hand, the one that held the handkerchief, as a gentleman would a lady, and kissed the top of her hand. “Welcome to the family, Harry Watson. It is truly my pleasure.”

 

_I wouldn't leave you in times of trouble_  
_We never could have come this far_  
_I took the good times; I'll take the bad times_  
_I'll take you just the way you are_

Mycroft found Sherlock in the gent's, leaning against one of the sinks, his back to the mirror. “Is Harry still here?” He asked, and Mycroft was struck by the note of sadness in his brother’s tone.

“Of course she is.” Mycroft stood next to Sherlock, facing a mirror. “She’s worried there isn’t a place for her in John’s life with you.”

Sherlock frowned. “She really doesn’t know him at all. I don’t understand…”

“Was the distance between us really so different, brother mine?” Mycroft washed his hands, more for something to do than out of necessity.

“No. They just need time…” Sherlock turned slowly to face Mycroft. “Are you here to impart some great brotherly wisdom on me, on this my wedding day?”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t be an arse.” They glanced at each other and chuckled. “I did want to congratulate you though.” Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him, but remained silent. “I didn’t want to mention it in front of Andy and Greg, for obvious reasons, but congratulations on the obvious shift in your…” He cleared his throat. “…relationship with John.”

Sherlock blushed. “Can we not?” He hissed. “I didn’t mention you and Vi.”

“Ah, and I am infinitely grateful.” Mycroft ducked his head. “Still…”

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispered. “I didn’t think it was possible to love him more, to need him more, to want to belong to him more than I already did. Today…” Sherlock couldn’t keep the smile from his lips. “He gave me the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. He trusts me, Myc.”

“Sherlock, he loves you.” He smiled fondly. “And it is clear you love him deeply.” Sherlock nodded and narrowed his eyes.

“You do want to give me advice.”

“Hmm. Very well, since you asked…” Mycroft smirked. “One piece of advice. It’s the only thing I think is appropriate.” He placed both hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and looked him the eyes. “Everything we’ve ever agreed upon about sentiment, all that about losing sides, chemical defects, and being to no advantage…”

Sherlock swallowed hard and blinked at him.

“Forget it. All of it. Delete it from your hard drive. It’s nonsense. We, brother, have been idiots.” Mycroft shrugged. “That’s it. That is my advice to you.”

“I could tell you the same.” Sherlock laughed and he pulled Mycroft into a hug. “Now come on. It’s almost time.”

 

_Don't go trying some new fashion_  
_Don't change the color of your hair_  
_You always have my unspoken passion_  
_Although I might not seem to care_

 

Greg leaned back against the wall and watched John pacing. “All right, mate?”

“Hmm? Yeah, yeah…” John mumbled absently to himself. Greg chuckled and shook his head.

“I don’t know what you could possibly have to worry about.”

“Oh, uhm…” John rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not…” He looked up at Greg and then spotted Sherlock walking towards them. He couldn’t help the giddy grin. “I’m just… I’ve never been this happy before Greg. And I can’t… I know. I know it’s just a ceremony. I know,” He reached for Sherlock’s hand, “But I just…” He pressed Sherlock’s hand over his racing heart and laughed.

Sherlock grinned, pulled John against him, and kissed him until they were both breathless.

“Oi.” Greg laughed, and snapped a quick photo. “Not much longer now, boys. I’ll give you a bit of privacy.”

Greg made his way down the hall, listening to John and Sherlock speaking in low tones behind him. He pulled up the snap he’d just taken and was shocked to see the sheer joy on Sherlock’s face. He looked the very definition of someone who was in love, and knew he was loved in return. There was purpose in his eyes, and he looked alive.

So unlike the first time Greg had encountered Sherlock. Or Shezza wasn’t it? Back then. Greg had seen a spark of something, intelligence, yes, but something more. Even then. Even when the only thing Sherlock had cared about was his next hit. Even when Greg received the call from some mysterious source that Sherlo- Shezza lay dying in a dingy drug den, he saw it.

The capacity for a great heart. He knew it was there, he saw the spark of passion in everything Sherlock did. He had only ever hoped that it wouldn’t be a passion for the next high, or the passion for reckless danger that would finally draw him in, that would be his end.

He’d been reluctant the first time Sherlock brought John to a crime scene. Damn cabbie. And that pink lady. But even then, that first night, he could see it. John ignited something new, something different in Sherlock. Looking back now, theirs was bloody well the most complex, convoluted love story he’d ever seen. But a love story it was.

Greg rolled his eyes. They were both idiots if they thought, after all this time, he still hadn’t figured out that John had offed that cabbie. He knew it the instant Sherlock stopped talking. Sherlock Holmes never stopped talking for anyone, and he never, ever admitted to being wrong. But one look – and a damn intense look it was – at John Watson, and that was it. And Greg knew. He just knew, Sherlock Holmes was completely, irreversibly addicted to John Watson.

He’d never dreamed back then that John would become one of his best friends. That he’d be part of this odd, conglomerate of a mismatched family. Or that he’d be standing up with the man Sherlock Holmes would marry. And yet, here they were.

John got it right, he thought. It wasn’t nerves. It was joy. He glanced into the room where the ceremony was about to start, and caught Molly’s eye. “Damn,” he mouthed and winked at her. She blushed in return. Yes, Greg realized, he was without a doubt the happiest he had ever been, and it wasn’t even his wedding. He watched Molly laughing with their friends.

Maybe soon.

 

_I don't want clever conversation_  
_I never want to work that hard_  
_I just want someone that I can talk to_  
_I want you just the way you are_

 

Playing the decoy had been great fun. Martha Hudson had been out of regular field work for so long, the past couple of months had nearly worn her out. But toying with the press was a lark, and she was happy to have been a part of it.

She was honestly surprised anyone had showed up at Baker Street at all, especially after the photos of her boys together had been published. But vultures they were, and once they picked up a trail, they weren’t likely to let it go any time soon. There had been chaos and confusion when she’d exited 221b with Andy, a very wound up Bluebell on her lead, and the married ones in disguises. It wasn’t until they were in climbing into the car that shouts of indignation were heard as the photographers realized they hadn’t caught a glimpse of Sherlock and John in their wedding finery. Things had gone much the same once they arrived at the courthouse.

But now, the married ones were at their security posts. Vi and Molly and the others were, oh and Harry, Martha dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief, all in their places. She’d been kissed on both cheeks by both of her boys, and they’d fussed over which one would be allowed to pin her corsage into place. In the end John had done it, surgeon’s hands and all, while Sherlock stood back and pouted.

They’d both offered her an arm, and walked together with her to the seat of honor, the seat a mother should have taken. She was kissed by her boys once more before they retreated.

Oh, those two. She had known she was in trouble the moment Sherlock brought John to see the flat. She’d had a soft spot for Sherlock for years, of course. How could she not after that mess with her husband, and salvaging the mission and all. Of course she adored him.

But the moment she laid eyes on John, she knew two things. First, they were a set. Two parts of a whole. Meant to be together. She had been astounded that the universe had actually gotten it right. And secondly, she knew she would never be able to treat this assignment as an assignment. It would have been easier if she had remembered this was just another job, but she’d fallen in love with her charges, and that was the end of it.

She dabbed her eyes again, and sniffed. Her boys. Oh, they’d been through so much. She nearly thought she’d die herself when Sherlock went away – she had not been included in that deception, and she was glad for it – and she’d had to watch John fight every day to keep going. When Sherlock came back, she was quick to shower him with the love he needed, but she wasn’t as quick to forgive as John had been. She couldn’t understand how he could forgive so easily, until she realized, the truth of who they were together was greater, and was more far reaching, than she had ever imagined.

Her boys had taught her much about love and life. And here they were, finally, finally. And though she knew all too soon they’d be packing off to their new home, the place their hearts belonged, she had them yet for a while, and she fully intended to spoil them and shower them with all the love and affection of a mother. She had already started by making sure the surveillance in the house was shut down for the next few days, and that a plush room had been reserved for her at a hotel nearby. She’d never admit to anything other than a mother’s intuition, but she knew with a certainty they’d be wanting a bit of privacy in the very near future. She smiled to herself, and dabbed innocently at her eyes once more.

 

_I need to know that you will always be_  
_The same old someone that I knew_  
_What will it take till you believe in me_  
_The way that I believe in you?_

Molly held tight to Violet’s hand on one side, and Sally’s hand on the other. She leaned forward and looked over to see deceptively sweet Mrs. Hudson dabbing her eyes. Molly chuckled at the devious smile that tugged at her lips. She glanced in the other direction, to Harry. To her surprise, though Harry was staring down at the handkerchief clasped in one hand, her other hand held quite resolutely to Sally’s hand.

She glanced around the room at their little party. Henry and Louise, Angelo, Andy had snuck in and taken the seat directly behind Sally, Mike… She wasn’t so sure about the two ladies who had slipped in last, she didn’t recognize them at all. Maybe They were distant relatives. No matter, they were here to celebrate Sherlock and John (and had obviously passed security).

How long? How long had Molly fawned over Sherlock? How much time had she wasted being jealous over John – she’d even gone so far as to pretend to forget his name at first. She shook her head at the memory of her own ridiculous behavior. God, it was so obvious from that first day in the lab. There was electricity in the air, and she knew. She did. She had known immediately.

She hadn’t been surprised at all when Sherlock had mentioned soulmates and reincarnation, and the like. Of course Molly believed in those things. She believed in love, so how could she not? But he hadn’t actually believed those things could happen to anyone she knew, and Sherlock seemed the least likely candidate of everyone.

But the universe was funny that way. And now she knew with a certainty that Sherlock Holmes, no matter where he was located in time or space, would find his John Watson. She knew it just as surely as she knew…

There was a noise at the back of the room, and the Celebrant entered and took her place at the front of the room.

“Oh damn, I’m already crying,” Vi murmured.

A bit of a ruckus behind them, and Molly rolled her eyes, because she knew Greg was doing something embarrassing. That ridiculous, gorgeous, perfect man. He and Mycroft entered and stood on either side of the Celebrant. She looked Greg up and down, and blushed when she realized he was staring right back at her. When their eyes met, he smiled and her breath caught. Ah yes, this. This she understood with a certainty. Better than she had ever understood another thing.

 

_I said I love you and that's forever_  
_And this I promise from the heart_  
_I could not love you any better_  
_I love you just the way you are_

Angelo sat on the edge of his seat, ready to stand when his friends walked in. Perhaps others in this room knew different and varying parts of Sherlock and John’s history. Maybe they knew more of the story behind how they actually met.

None of that mattered to Angelo, because Angelo knew what he knew. And what he knew was that the first time Sherlock brought John to his restaurant, with the very first candle, the very first dinner interrupted by a case, this was where they’d end up. He didn’t know how long it would take them. He had no idea what they’d have to overcome to get to where they needed to be. But he knew what they were the moment he saw them together.

And he was the first one to stand when the door at the back of the room opened.

 

 

“Ready?” John mumbled against Sherlock’s lips before he kissed him again.

“Mmmhmmm.” Sherlock discovered he liked the challenge of smiling and kissing at the same time. He pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against John’s. “They’re waiting.”

“Can’t have that,” John didn’t seem in a rush to move.

“Let’s go.”

“Okay.” Neither one moved, excepted to grin.

“John,” Sherlock giggled.

“All right.” John took a deep breath, and tried to look serious, but his mouth kept quirking up into a smile. “Okay. All right.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes.” They blinked at each other and laughed.

“Oh, you know what?” John giggled.

“What?” Sherlock was actively trying to school his face into something resembling serious. This was a serious commitment after all. But his nose twitched, and then his lips pursed, and the joy that shone in his eyes bubbled out in giggles again.

“Fuck being composed. We’re celebrating.” John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pulled him toward the door.

“John,” Sherlock tugged him back with a laugh. “Wait.” John turned back and bumped into Sherlock, which set them off laughing again, and Sherlock placed a quick kiss just under John’s jaw.

“Ohh, you bastard.” John grinned mischievously. “C’mon then. Let’s get this part over with.” They were giggling like boys when they pushed through the door.

 

* _*Don't say no, no, no, no-no_  
_Just say yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah-yeah_  
_And we'll go, go, go, go-go_  
_If you're ready, like I'm ready_

_Cause it's a beautiful night_  
_We're looking for something dumb to do_  
_Hey baby_  
_I think I wanna marry you_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Just the Way You Are," by Billy Joel
> 
> **"Marry You," by Bruno Mars


	36. A Thought or Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There was no denying the fact that there was a certain excitement in the air.”   
> -William Goldman, The Princess Bride

There was no music as they walked towards Mycroft, Greg and the celebrant, it was unnecessary. John's fingers entwined with Sherlock's, and they somehow fell into step together despite their height differences; in fact, their family and friends would swear, if asked later, that they more or less glided as one. 

Neither of them blushed as their guests turned to observe them better, they both wore smiles that made their eyes glitter; it might have been a reflection of unshed tears, but Donovan knew, as she turned from Sherlock and John and caught Andy watching her, that it was joy beaming from their eyes, complete and utter joy. She winked at him and held her breath as he flushed that lovely shade of pink, the one that made her recall the way he had awakened her that morning. She shook her head and once again returned her gaze to the men who now stood before the gathering of their closest friends, and she once again wondered at the idea that she was one of this very exclusive number. She squeezed Molly's hand tighter and released Harry's only to wrap her arm around her shoulder and pull her tightly against her side.

Mycroft cleared his throat, "Before we begin, I have prepared a few words, if I may?" Sherlock and John exchanged surprised looks but shrugged and nodded as they stood still holding hands.

"I am sure many of you who are here today are surprised to see me standing up for my brother on this day. I can assure you, no one was more surprised than I when he asked me to perform this duty for him. In recent weeks, I have been fortunate to be a witness to the love these two men share; and have discovered that I have learned much from them, including what it means to be finally happy and content for the first time in my life."

Violet tried to hold back the tears that had been threatening to fall all day, but when Mycroft's eyes found hers, she was lost.

Mycroft smiled gently at her, and went on. "Without their example, I would not understand what the words courage, selflessness and heart truly mean. All of us present here today, would not be who we are without them, and some of us would not be here at all."

Billie reached for Mandy's hand and felt her wife's hand tremble beneath hers; she watched John straighten a bit more, knowing he was close to losing it, then grinned slightly as she saw Sherlock wipe a single tear from John's eye. It seemed as if the room itself sighed at that moment and she couldn't help but chuckle. After a silent pause, there was a chorus of giggles, snorts and sniffles, to which Mycroft could only smile at. He turned to his brother and nodded.

"In conclusion, dear brother, just know that you and John are very important to us, in ways we are still just beginning to understand and appreciate. Know that you are deeply loved. Both of you." Mycroft stepped back and nodded to the celebrant to begin.

"I understand from the gentlemen you are here to celebrate that this service will consist of the barest of legal 'mumbo-jumbo' and focus on the words they wish to offer to one another. It may seem a bit of a rhetorical question, but, just so we are all clear, no one here objects to this union between these two men?"

Sherlock's head turned sharply and gazed into the faces around them, and when not a peep was heard, he nodded and once again faced John, who was clearly focused on holding himself together.

"William, repeat after me: 'I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes...'"

"I, William Sherlock Scott Holmes..."

"'...take you, John Hamish Watson...'"

"...take you, John Hamish Watson..."

"'...to be my lawfully wedded husband.'"

"...to be my lawfully wedded husband."

"John?"

"Hmmm? Oh. Yes." Donovan managed to hold in a giggle, just barely.

"John, repeat after me: 'I, John Hamish Watson...'"

"I, John Hamish Watson..."

"'...take you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes...'"

"...most certainly take you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes..." Donovan's shoulders shook, but she managed to keep from making a sound.

"'...to be my lawfully wedded husband.'"

"...to be my lawfully wedded husband."

"They have chosen to put their rings on after they have said their own vows to one another, so William, I believe, you won the coin toss."

"John - when you suggested that we write our own vows, I was able to write all I needed to say to you in twenty-three minutes. But I find those words to be short of what I want you to know. So, I'm going to tell you exactly what I'm feeling right now, instead. I see you staring at me, as you have so often in our time together; a mix of adoration, bliss, exhaustion and confusion, above all, there is the simple love you have never been short of. Even as children, I knew of your love for me; in those years when we were separated by place and circumstance, I felt you and knew that your love never withered, only grew deeper, stronger. When I had to leave you, I know now that your love is what kept me going, kept me alive; when I returned, broken and battered, you put me back together with that same love. John Hamish Watson, I give you this ring to honour the love you bless me with each and every day, and I hope you know the love I feel for you will never end, like this circle I now place on your finger."

Donovan took a deep breath and let it out as she watched John's eyes never leave Sherlock's face. She knew she was witnessing something truly remarkable, and once again she looked to Andy and was shocked to see tears running unchecked down his face. "I love you," she mouthed to him. "I love you, too," his eyes managed to tell her. She once again hugged Harry to her side and waited for John to begin.


	37. Official

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'Mawidge,' the Archdean began.  
> "'Again, Holiness, I interrupt in the name of love. Please hurry along as best you can to the end.'  
> "'Mawidge is a dweam wiffin a dweam.'"
> 
> -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

Sherlock still held John's hand, the hand with the ring, the physical representation of their love, in both of his hands. John was staring at him, his eyes had gone that very specific shade of blue, John blue, and they were searching Sherlock's eyes. He would have stayed there, content to let John search until he found everything he ever needed. But then John blinked, and he sniffed, and he flashed that lopsided smile that did funny things to Sherlock's heart.

"Sherlock, I... Damn. I knew I should have gone first..." John shook his head and attempted to blink back tears. "It took me longer than twenty-three minutes to write my vows. It took days..." He glanced at Sally who could no longer contain a giggle. "...and an entire legal pad. And still, I couldn't get it just right. It took a reminder from Greece to see, to know exactly what I wanted to say. And now I'm standing here, and... I can't remember a single damn word of it." He shrugged and Sherlock huffed a laugh. The rest of the world fell away in that moment and Sherlock had to remind himself to breathe.

"You do that to me, Sherlock. You have a way of overriding everything so that the only thing that matters is you. Your love for me is so overwhelming and so complete, I wonder how I can be deserving of it." Sherlock shook his head slightly, but John just smiled on. "But then I realize, I don't have to earn it. You've given it freely, from the very first day that we met. I don't have to be better, because you make me better. I don't have to be braver, or stronger, or smarter. I am those things because of you, because of the way you love me. And I just... I need you to know...  No- I can see it in your eyes, and I heard it in your words, you know, you already know, that my vow to you is to love you completely and wholly. To make sure you know the fullness of my love every single day. Forever and always."

John released a very slow, very controlled breath, looking very much like he'd just diffused a bomb or completed some other herculean task. Sherlock bit his lip in an effort to contain his joy, because John loved him, and John had been magnificently courageous just now. They both had. They'd made their declarations of love, using actual words, and done so in front of their closest friends and family. He felt... victorious. They'd overcome so much.

Well then. All hail the conquering heroes.

Sherlock pursed his lips at his own ridiculousness. At least he tried to. In reality, he smirked and snorted. God, he snorted. And John, brilliant John, looked at him with both eyebrows raised and giggled.

Damn. Sherlock wanted to kiss him. Needed to kiss him. But he couldn't, not yet. Not until someone said the words that gave him permission. Why the hell did he need some stranger's permission to kiss John? And why weren't they saying the words? And... oh. John hadn't even put Sherlock's ring on yet. He glanced down at his ringless finger, a glaring contrast to the fact that John was wearing a ring, and back up to John. But John was looking back at Greg with his hand held out expectantly.

And Greg, damn him, was frantically patting down his pockets as if he couldn't find something vital. Something very important. Sherlock heard Molly swear, which should have been hilarious, it honestly probably was quite so, except Greg couldn't seem to find the ring. And then he looked up at them with a devious sort of grin on his face.

"I'm going to murder you," Sherlock heard John mumble. And that was also obviously hilarious, because someone snorted and everyone in the room laughed. Everyone but John. And by extension, Sherlock.

Mycroft tapped Sherlock lightly on the shoulder, and stage whispered, "I believe you're looking for this." He held the ring out to John on his palm.

"Bastards," John huffed and rolled his eyes as he snatched the ring up. But he was smiling again.

Over his shoulder, Sherlock stated quite plainly, "Do stop spending time with Gavin, brother mine. It's having a rather unbecoming impact on your usually impeccable judgment."

Greg laughed outright at that. Everyone did. Even the celebrant covered her mouth with her hand and turned her face away.

"God I love you," John whispered as he slid the ring on Sherlock's finger. He pulled Sherlock's hand to his lips so he could kiss the ring on the finger that seemed to be attached directly to Sherlock's heart by a million tiny nerves and sense receptors, because he finally understood exactly what John meant when he'd said the kisses were too much all at once. He very nearly swooned -- his knees actually went a bit weak. But John held tight to his hand. And Mycroft seemed to take a step nearer, a solid presence at his back.

Someone said, "Awwww," and suddenly there were more sniffles than giggles, and people were blinking, and smiling, and dabbing their eyes with handkerchiefs. It was all very... ridiculous. Sherlock had enough wits about him to say so. Then Harry, of all people, made a sort of choking noise, and then she was laughing. And everyone seemed to be finding great joy in the fact that Sherlock was so affected. Everyone but John, who seemed to just barely be managing the fact that he too was a bit... affected.

"Can you hurry?" John turned to the celebrant, and Sherlock did huff a laugh at John for repeating his sentiment from earlier.

The celebrant smiled a knowing smile. "Let’s keep it simple, shall we? Before these witnesses, we recognize that Mr. William Sherlock Scott Holmes and Dr. John Hamish Watson are now legally united in this civil partnership." Sherlock took an eager step toward John. "Yes, Mr. Holmes, you may now kiss your husband."

There was cheering. Sherlock was certain there was cheering. And more laughter. Probably. Hell, there might have been fireworks and a parade. He frankly couldn't be arsed to care as he pulled John to him in a kiss that, well, he didn't have sufficient data for comparison, but by his best estimate, was likely the best kiss in the history of kisses. John seemed to agree, because when Sherlock tried to pull away, John tugged him back down into a kiss that at least rivaled, but probably surpassed, the first.

"Maybe come up for some air, yeah boys?" Greg chuckled. 

The celebrant smiled as they caught their breath. She nodded to the Registrar standing off to the side. "There's still the matter of signing the official registry. We need Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, and your two witnesses. This could take a bit..."

"Perhaps everyone should head to Angelo's?" Mycroft suggested.

"Come friends, let's begin the celebration!" Angelo cried to a round of enthusiastic cheers.

"All right gentleman, let's make this official," the Registrar pulled a pen from his shirt pocket.

"Yes, let's..." Sherlock had to hold tight to John's shoulders, as his traitorous knees threatened to go weak once more, when John, his John, leaned up and whispered, "...husband."


	38. First Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “With any luck at all,” he said, “we should soon be safely in the Fire Swamp.” - William Goldman, The Princess Bride

For some reason, which neither could explain to each other or even to themselves, then or later, seeing their signatures together made everything almost overwhelmingly real. Mycroft sensed that they needed a few minutes alone, and after he thanked the celebrant and registrar, exchanged a look with Greg and made their intention to leave for Angelo's known. 

"Take your time, no one will be going anywhere for a while."

Sherlock nodded mutely, unable to do anything but sit and hold onto John's hand.

John managed to find his voice somehow. "Thank you, both, for making sure neither of us fell over. Please make sure Harry -"

"I'll not let her leave before you arrive, and I think the ladies will be able to convince her to stay - just take care of him?" 

"I will. I think it is finally sinking in, what we did here today. I'll get him there - just save me a cannoli or two?"

"Will do." Mycroft and Greg quietly made their exit and they were finally alone.

"I didn't know." Sherlock whispered after a few moments of silence.

"What, love?" John moved from the chair and sat on the marble floor in front of his new husband, his hand still tightly held Sherlock's as if they would float away if either let go.

"I didn't know how it would actually feel, to wear your ring, to share what we are with everyone. I honestly thought after this morning that I couldn't love you more. But, John, I - will you dance with me?"

John nodded and helped Sherlock to his feet and held him in his arms. "We are still the same, you and I - the same as we were the first day we met. Our love has survived and changed and grown, but we are essentially the same. Our souls met that day. Today, love, today, my husband, we finally are truly one heart, not because we dressed up, put rings on the other's finger or signed that book, but because we were able to share with everyone that gathered here, our love, in joy, with tears and laughter. All of the people that were here have been changed by you, by your love for me, our love for each other. That's what I wanted to say to you, what I forgot."

"May I kiss you?"

John nodded and Sherlock pressed his lips against John's then relaxed into him as if he were breathing for the first time that day. "I'm afraid, John."

"Of what?"

"Now that I have you, and you have me, I don't ever want to take you for granted. I want to remember, always, this sense of completely belonging, for the first time in my life to someone, to you. It feels so fragile, like I could break it."

"I won't let you forget. Hmmm? It only feels fragile because we made something new today. But you know something?" John's eyes glittered at him and Sherlock shook his head. "This isn't really new, we've been working so hard, for so long, that it feels new, we feel different, but we aren't. We are the same people now as we were when we woke up this morning. We are the same people who made love earlier today..."

"John..."

"Uhmhmm?"

"The sooner we go to Angelo's, the sooner we can go home..."

"That's why you're the genius."

"Only because you make me so."

 

They climbed into the black sedan Mycroft had left for them, but Sherlock had the driver let them out a block before Angelo's. He wanted to stretch his legs, and walk the last bit, with John by his side. He no longer cared if people managed to catch a snap of them together, so he slid out of the car, offered John his hand and helped him out. The sky was darkening, and the city lights seemed to brighten as they got closer to the restaurant; he closed his eyes for a moment, and it was as if it was their first night together again. They were just beginning once again, and yet they had always been, hadn't they? Always starting over - John squeezed his hand as they arrived at the window. He could hear them, the doors were wide open; the music, happy voices, and laughter came to a sudden halt as they were spotted. It was Donovan who came out to wrap them in her arms, somehow fitting, that she reached out to them first, Sherlock thought, as tears threatened to fall on her shoulder.

"Thank you for today." She whispered against his neck. "No, Holmes. Sherlock - no tears, my friend, not tonight. You and John have made the people in there so happy. Even Harry, Mike has been dancing with her, for the last three songs, she could give you lessons, John. So, no tears, not even happy ones. C'mon, boys, this party is for you, big smiles, there, that's better. She linked her arms with theirs and they somehow squeezed through the door together; she kissed them both, then walked to Andy's side. She nodded and a song began:

 

"At last, my love has come along  
my lonely days are over, and life is like a song  
At last, the skies above are blue  
My heart was wrapped in clover  
Every since the night I looked at you

And I found a dream that I could speak to  
A dream to call my own  
I found a thrill to press my cheek to  
A thrill I'd never known  
When you smiled, and then the spell was cast..."*

 

Sherlock pulled John into his arms, and felt John's palm rest against his chest, as his other arm wrapped around his back. He closed his eyes again and let the song move through them. No fancy steps were necessary, it was enough to have John lean against his shoulder and hear him whisper, "I love you," over and over as they swayed as one, until the song ended. The room once again burst into happy noise as they shared one more gentle kiss. 

"I'm starving." He mumbled against John's smiling lips.

"I know, me too."

"Cannoli?" 

"Cannoli."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * 'At Last' by Mack Gordon and Harry Warren


	39. Kiss Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "'There's such a thing as principle' was all Fezzik would answer, and he opened the door that led to the fourth level. 'My father made me promise never to lie, and not once in my life have I even been tempted,' and he started down the stairs." -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

They'd been attempting to get a quiet moment, just to get to the dessert table, since that first dance. Nearly an hour had passed, and Sherlock's stomach was actually rumbling. Somehow they'd managed to get separated, and after only a few minutes of listening to Greg's entirely too bawdy to be appropriate for mixed company words of wisdom, Sherlock needed an escape plan. He glanced around for John, and spotted him cornered by a happy-crying Mrs. Hudson. Their eyes met, and John looked exactly as desperate as Sherlock felt.

John hadn't wanted to have the big party. If Sherlock had just listened to John, he would have been back at Baker Street already. With John. Doing... things. _With John_. It didn't even matter what sorts of... things (though his imagination was doing a rather fine job of supplying a few suggestions). He realized it was entirely possible, of the two of them, John was the true genius.

"...if you know what I mean." Greg was winking and grinning garishly.

With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock turned abruptly away. "I need..."

Greg followed his line of sight to John who was being patted, and hugged, and exclaimed over by Mrs. Hudson. "Yeah you do." Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at Greg's suggestive tone. He opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut with a shake of his head and walked away.

"Excuse us, Hudders," Sherlock took John by the hand, "I need... John and I have things... Uhm, urgent matters to attend to."

John bit his lip to try to conceal a grin. "Urgent you say?"

Mrs. Hudson shook her head and chuckled. "You needn't be dramatic dear. You've come to snatch him away. It's your wedding day, no one's going to stop you. Least of all me." She waved her handkerchief to shoo them away.

"Who knew being adored could be so exhausting?" John mumbled low enough that only Sherlock could hear. He smiled fondly as he watched Harry laughing with Mike and Molly.  

"Why do you think I avoided it for so long?" Sherlock grabbed a flute of champagne from a tray, passed it off to John, and picked up a plate of cannoli.

"So all those years of being an arrogant prick?" John grinned up at him.

"All part of my plan." Sherlock whispered directly into John’s ear as he pulled him more closely to his side. "But you came along, found me again, and ruined everything. Ruined me." He pressed his lips to that spot on John's jaw.

"God, Sherlock," John gasped and then giggled. He tried to pull away, but Sherlock held him tight. "What exactly did you mean by urgent?" Sherlock smiled against John's neck and hummed. John closed his eyes and all but melted against him.

"Sorry to interrupt, boys," Bill took a bite off a cannoli from Sherlock's plate. "We haven't had our turn with you yet."

"Bill," Mandy laughed and shoved her out of the way. "Don't be rude." She rolled her eyes and then turned to Sherlock with a tremulous smile. "Will."

John nudged him and Sherlock gathered her into a hug. "We did it, Manda. We made it. Both of us. All of us." Mandy sniffed and laid her head against his shoulder.

"I talked to her," Mandy whispered.

"I knew you could do it." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm so proud of you."

"Thank you, Will. Love you."

Sherlock smiled and kissed her head again. "Love you too, Manda."

Bill pulled a face and rolled her eyes. "Sorry, Cap'n," she saluted him with a giddy grin as she finished off the cannoli, "nothing mushy. Not tonight."

John saluted her back with a wink. "Fair enough."

"But..." She took a step toward him, and then another. "There is something I've always wanted to say to you. Well... not really say..." Bill's smile went a bit devious. She glanced at Sherlock and Mandy who were barely paying her any attention.

"Out with it soldier," John assumed his Captain persona, though he couldn't help the lopsided smile.

"Cheeky," Bill huffed a laugh and shook her head. "Just know... this is a long time coming."

"Oka- hmmmphfff..." John dropped his champagne as Bill placed her hands on either side of his face and kissed him long and hard. "Huh. Cannoli." Bill laughed outright at his stunned reaction.

At a complete loss for words, Sherlock huffed an incredulous laugh.

"Oh shite, Bill. Really? You had to do that now..." Mandy groaned.

"What? It was funny." Bill mussed John's hair. "I couldn't help myself. I mean, just look at him? Right? Sherlock?"

"Get your damn hands off my brother," Harry grabbed Bill's arm and tried to pull her away from John.

"Oh god. Uhm..." John glanced at Sherlock and then around the room at their stunned friends. He made a valiant effort at not giggling, but was very unsuccessful. "Harry..."

"John, I don't know who this bitch thinks she is..."

"Harry, it's okay." Sherlock still looked a bit shell shocked, but he covered his mouth to try to stifle his own laughter.

"Like hell it is," Sally insinuated herself between John and Bill.

"Sally..." John laid his hand on her arm. "Really..."

Mycroft stepped up, eyes flashing, mobile in hand. Violet looked fierce at his side. "What is the meaning of this? John? Miss..." He glanced at his mobile. "...Murray?"

"Who's the suit, Johnny?" Bill smirked.

"You think this is fucking funny?" Molly growled. "This is their _wedding_!"

"Mols..." Greg kept her from lunging after Bill.

"Damn, Bill. Always getting me into trouble." John scrubbed his hand over his face. "Oh, hell."

Bill snorted, "if I remember correctly, I'm the one who saved your arse."

Molly tried to lunge again, and Harry growled.

"Wait." Mrs. Hudson commanded. "John dear, do you care to explain this... indiscretion?" Her tone was even, but he could see the threat in her eyes.

"No... Uhm, no indiscretion."

"None." Sherlock took John's hand and kissed the ring on his finger.

"Everyone, this is Billie Murray. Everyone, ah... Meet Bill. And that's her _wife,_ Mandy." He shrugged. "Bill was on my med team in Afghanistan. She..." John exhaled deeply.

"Bill saved John's life when he was shot." Sherlock put his arms around John. "He nearly died, and she saved him."

"Johnny... Uhm, _Captain_ Watson saved my arse a few times too. He was... still is... one of my best friends." Bill shrugged. "We've always been a bit stupid together." She smiled at John. "Sorry, everyone, I..."

"Bill, uhm, I'm John’s sister." Harry ducked her head. "Thank you." She looked up and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Thanks for saving him, for bringing him back." She threw her arms around Bill and hugged her tight.

"Bill Murray? You the Bill Murray who comments on John's blog?" Sally put her hands on her hips and looked Bill up and down.

"The same." Bill nodded.

"God, you're hilarious. I bet you have stories."

"You have no idea." Bill winked at John, who groaned in response.

"Fuck."

"Oh, yes." Sally laughed. She held her hand out to Bill. "Sally Donovan. C'mon, I need to hear all about young Captain Watson." Molly followed them to a table in the corner.

"I better... moderate," Mandy chuckled. She kissed Sherlock on the cheek and patted John’s arm.

"Everything settled here?" Greg looked from John to Sherlock. John nodded.

"Brother?" Mycroft still cast his glare between John and Bill.

"Myc, really. It's fine. We're fine." He leaned in to prove his point by kissing John, but froze. "Oh, love," he snorted.

"What?"

"You've got a little..." Sherlock ran his thumb over John's lip and held it up for John to see.

"Oi. Lipstick." John looked over shoulder and flashed Bill a two finger salute, which she promptly returned. "Did you get it all?"

Sherlock grinned and his eyes seemed to dance. "Almost." Another swipe of his thumb over John's lips left them both breathless. "Forget it." He pulled John into a deep and lingering kiss.

"Show off!" Bill called from the corner.

"That is what I do," Sherlock winked and kissed John again. He was cut short by his stomach growling.

John reached for Sherlock’s plate that he'd set aside. "Cannoli?" 

"Only if I get to kiss you right after."

"You want to run your own trial." John smirked.

Sherlock hummed in agreement and let John feed him a bite of the dessert.

"I think that can be arranged."

 

_*It's the way you love me_  
_It's a feeling like this_  
_It's centrifugal motion_  
_It's perpetual bliss_  
_It's that pivotal moment_  
_It's, ah, impossible_  
_This kiss, this kiss (unstoppable)_  
_This kiss, this kiss_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"This Kiss," Faith Hill


	40. Finis...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The only way forward is to never look back.”  
> \- William Goldman, The Princess Bride

Andy had been watching everyone all evening; he had chuckled at the ruckus Bill had caused, of course he had known about Billie from John's file; seeing John and Sherlock so happy after everything they had been through gave him hope that some day...

"Dance." Somehow Donovan, his Sally had caught him off guard, but then she always managed to surprise him. She took the glass of champagne he had been nursing all evening from his hand, and laid it on the bar. "Now."

 

"My baby don't care for shows  
My baby don't care for clothes  
My baby just cares for me..."

 

Andy took her hand and sighed as they ended up next to Sherlock and Violet finally getting a chance to dance.

"I have an idea for a diversionary tactic, just wanted to ask your permission before, actually, I uhm, want to ask your blessing, I, want to marry your brother -"

"You don't need my permission, Vi, you are both - oh. You want to ask him here, in front of everyone -"

"I don't want to steal the spotlight -"

"Nothing would make me happier, Violet. I know how much he loves you. I want to be here to see his face, then John and I will -" Sherlock spun her away, and Harry and John moved closer.

 

"...He cares for me  
My baby don't care  
For cars and races  
My baby don't care for..."

 

"I'm so glad you stayed, Harry. I wish things had been easier -"

"Johnny, you know I made choices -"

"Still, I could have -"

"What, what more could you have done? No, Johnny. Mum and Dad, they would have loved today, loved seeing how much you are cherished by these amazing people. And Will - they would have loved Sherlock so much, knowing how happy he makes you -"

 

"...I wonder what's wrong with baby  
My baby just cares for  
My baby just cares for  
My baby just cares for me..."*

 

Molly sang the last few lines in Greg's ear, and he tightened his arms around her. "Nothing's wrong with me,...except waiting so long, to tell you. I was an idiot."

"Yeah, my idiot." Molly kissed his neck and pulled away as the music ended.

 

Violet cleared her throat and clinked her glass, and the room fell silent. "Thank you. On behalf of John and Sherlock and their families, thank you for being here. It means so much that all of you are here to celebrate with us. Before we restart the music, I have something I want to do. Mycroft? Will you please put that cake down and come here?" Mycroft blushed and put his plate down, then slowly made his way over to her.

"I know this may seem sudden, but, it's not, not really, as we have known each other for so long." Violet got down on one knee and took Mycroft's trembling hand in hers. Sherlock pulled John into his arms and held him tightly, as he watched his brother's face change from shocked to something Sherlock considered almost beautiful, yes, in this moment his brother was beautiful. "Mycroft Aloysius Holmes. Will you do me the honour of marrying me?" Everyone held a collective breath and no one moved.

Mycroft bit his lip and nodded. "Yes, Vi. Yes. I will marry you. Of course -" She slipped an elegant signet ring on his finger and kissed it gently. The room erupted into chaos and Mycroft looked up to see Sherlock smile at him as he and John moved toward the door.

"Thank you, brother mine." He mouthed.

Sherlock shook his head and squeezed John's hand. "No. Thank you," he whispered back, then they disappeared into the warm spring night.

 

"It's very clear, our love is here to stay  
Not for a year but ever and a day  
The radio and the telephone and the movies that we know  
May just be passing fancies and in time may go

But oh, my dear, our love is here to stay  
Together we're going a long, long way  
In time the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble  
They're only made of clay but our love is here to stay..."**

 

"Mrs. Turner."

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson."

"Our job is finally done."

"I believe you're right, my dear."

"Another spin around the floor?"

"I'm game if you are, the night is still young."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * 'My Baby Just Cares for Me' Lyrics by Gus Kahn
> 
> ** 'Love is Here to Stay' Lyrics by Ira Gershwin


	41. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Did they make it? Was the pirate ship there? You can answer it for yourself, but, for me, I say yes it was. And yes, they got away. And got their strength back and had lots of adventures and more than their share of laughs." -William Goldman (The Princess Bride)

John knew he was in a dream. That much was obvious. He couldn’t tell if the sun was setting or if it was rising. It didn’t matter, really, it was positioned in, and hadn’t moved from, that perfect place on the horizon. It cast golden fiery orange and pink light out over the water. He wasn’t sure where exactly he was, besides on a beach at either sunset or sunrise. It was disconcerting.

He thought he would be able to recognize the beach where he had first found his William. He knew he was dreaming, and he was confident in the fact that the only image of that beach his mind had was from all those years ago. And he would definitely be able to recognize the beach where he and Sherlock had really found each other all over again. But his mind was not playing fair. The water was the crystal clear of their Grecian island, but the beach itself reminded him of the one from so many years ago.

John was never a fan of not knowing where he was. Or, as the case may have been, _when_ he was. And that was the problem with dreams. In this dream the beach literally went on forever. He started walking ages ago, and had yet to stop. He knew he was searching for something. Or possibly waiting on someone.

He walked for what felt like a small eternity, though he never grew weary, before he spotted a well familiar form ahead of him.

“Holmes? What are you doing here?” John’s brow creased. He’d thought for sure he’d eventually find Sherlock, not Holmes.

“Waiting for you, it would appear.”

“Tweeds on the beach?” John chuckled.

“Ah, but it is your mind that has brought me here in such a state.” Holmes smiled. “And do not underestimate a good tweed. Your other self, my Watson, is quite fond.”

John huffed a laugh. “He has good taste.”

“Indeed.” Holmes fell into step with John, and they walked on. “I understand you and your Sherlock are to be congratulated. On several accounts.”

“News travels fast.”

Holmes rolled his eyes and tapped John’s forehead. “How easily you forget.”

Coming to an abrupt halt, John searched Holmes’ face. “Why? Why you? What is this?”

“Love him well, John.” Holmes turned to face him.

“I plan to. Until the universe sees fit to part us.”

“Good. There is freedom in that love. Freedom that transcends the restraints of time and space, and the oppression of laws and man.” Holmes took both of John’s hands in his. He ran his thumb over the wedding ring, so new yet that John was still acutely aware of its weight on his hand. “I will never be permitted to publicly display my affections for my Watson.” The sorrow in his eyes broke John’s heart. “Love him well, John. Take nothing for granted.”

John was lost for words at the outpouring of emotions. “Holmes, my friend, thank you.” He pulled this other Sherlock into a hug. It was brief, only a moment, but as he stepped back he felt nimble musician’s fingers in his hair, and felt before he heard Holmes whisper against his neck.

The rumbling voice repeating and repeating, “I love you,” low and soft.

“Holmes…”

Lips smiled against his neck, and John blinked awake. He could just make out the grey light of pre-dawn. He tried to move, but strong warm arms held him tight and he realized he was surrounded. Sherlock was propped up against the pillows and headboard, and was holding John close to his chest. As ridiculous as it was, John couldn’t help his face flushing a bit as he recalled the night before.

Their wedding night.

He closed his eyes again and relaxed into Sherlock’s arms once more. It was only then he realized that Sherlock was speaking, just above a whisper, into the crook of John’s neck. “…forever and always.”

John opened his eyes again, only to spot a well-worn piece of paper on the side table. “Wait…” He rasped out. “Sherlock start again. Do them again. I want to hear your twenty-three minute vows. Please.” He managed to get enough space to turn in Sherlock’s arms. “Please, love. I want to hear them.”

Sherlock’s smile was beatific, he looked fully at peace as he kissed John’s forehead. “John, my heart. My other half. I love you.” He kept his voice low and spoke directly into John’s ear. John shivered against him, and Sherlock held him tight. “You have given me more than I thought it possible for one person to give…” Sherlock chuckled.

“Hmm. That was a bit preemptive, yeah?” John stretched up and kissed Sherlock’s jaw, causing his love to sigh contentedly.

“…you have given me your heart, your hopes, and your future. There was a time that I would have been satisfied to take all you had to offer. When I thought there was nothing more I could want or need. But I find now, here with you, that it isn’t enough. I want more. John,” He cupped Johns face with one hand and turned his face up to his. “I find I am in desperate need to give you everything. Every part of me. My heart, my mind, my…” It was Sherlock’s turn to blush “…my everything. Me in entirety.”

John’s breath caught, and Sherlock stole the opportunity to kiss him deeply. “You have given me so much,” Sherlock murmured. “My vow to you now, my best friend, my soulmate, my John, is that I will spend the rest of my days giving back to you all that I am. Forever and always.”

John wiped a tear from Sherlock’s cheek, and then pulled him down into a slow, lingering kiss. “I love you. So much. I… My heart…”

“I know, my love.”

“And,” John giggled, “it’s probably a good thing you didn’t use those. Greg probably would have had a stroke from trying to keep the innuendos to himself.”

“Idiot,” Sherlock huffed a laugh.

“Your idiot.” John sighed. “And you are mine. Husband.”

Sherlock hummed his agreement against John’s neck. “καρδιά μου."


End file.
